


The Curious Case of Mr. Scamander

by OwlSeeYou



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: 1920s, Crossover, Multi, Toronto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 93,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlSeeYou/pseuds/OwlSeeYou
Summary: When Newt Scamander arrived in Toronto on a balmy August day in 1925, he was excited to begin the "Americas" leg of his research. He was curious as to why Dumbledore had been so insistent that he visit this particular city. He expected to discover something unusual - a magical beast perhaps, or another curiosity. He did *not* expect to lose his creatures in a strange city, or to find himself wanted by the Canadian Magical Parliament, or to be embroiled in a murder investigation with the Toronto Constabulary - Though as Detective Watts so helpfully pointed out: "I believe it was Alexander Pope who wrote: 'Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.'"And though Newt felt many things during his Toronto adventure, he certainly was never disappointed.
Relationships: George Crabtree/Queenie Goldstein, Leta Lestrange/Theseus Scamander, Llewellyn Watts/Newt Scamander, Tina Goldstein/Original Percival Graves, William Murdoch/Julia Ogden
Comments: 22
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the lads discover a body.

**Chapter One** _  
  
Toronto - 29th, August 1925_

It was the third such body that Detective Murdoch and Detective Watts had been called to investigate. Despite the early hour, it was already hot - the air stifling and humid, particularly in the narrow alley behind the distillery that dead-ended in a brick wall and a stack of worn wooden crates. 

It had been a stressful few weeks in Toronto during what should have been a relatively quiet and lazy time of year. First there were the random acts of destruction; calls would come in to Station House Four about walls collapsing in bursts of brick and mortar. The lads were met with scenes of devastation in the streets, huge segments of buildings demolished, food carts torn to shreds, shops decimated, windows blasted apart and walls tumbled down. The scenes appeared as if bombs had gone off, but witnesses claimed there was neither smoke nor fire. The constabulary found no traces of explosives or shards of devices. It was as if a giant invisible fist had been randomly smashing apart sections of the city. The newspapers had had a field day...Miss Cherry in particular took great pleasure in it - _“Bombless Bombs Bewilder Bumbling Coppers.”_ The _Bombless Bombs_ mystery, as it was being called, drove them crazy for weeks.

Watts and Murdoch (with the help of Murdoch’s wife, Dr. Julia Ogden) had spent countless sleepless days and nights of experimentation and investigation. They’d called upon numerous experts in the fields of science, chemistry, physics, medicine, biology...even weather. They searched for patterns or explanations, yet despite all their efforts, they’d gotten nowhere. 

Then they began finding bodies. 

William Murdoch crossed himself as he reached the victim and recited the _Requiem Aeternam_ under his breath.

Llewellyn Watts scratched at his neck and shifted uncomfortably in his suit jacket as he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck. It was brutally hot. Pulling out a handkerchief, he patted down his face, then used his hat to fan himself. Murdoch stood seemingly unaffected by the heat, watching pathologist Dr. Julia Ogden as she worked.

Even after working together so closely for so many years (and being married for a couple of them), he never grew tired of watching Julia at work. Her movements were always so precise and methodical yet carried a grace and a _compassion_ for the victim that warmed his heart. 

She pulled a billfold out of the man’s jacket and handed it to Detective Watts. Watts put his hat back on and flipped through.

“Money’s still in here - this wasn’t a robbery…”

Murdoch nodded. “I imagined as much. The previous two victims also showed no sign of robbery...then again, we’re assuming the connection because of the strange markings.”

“So you think it to be the work of a sequential killer?”

“I think it’s too much of a coincidence to believe otherwise.”

Watts nodded, then paused as he pulled out a card. “Reverend Ebenezer A. Winters. I wonder what he was doing in this part of town,” he said handing the card over the Murdoch.

Murdoch looked it over. “Have you anything for us, Julia?” 

Dr. Ogden sat back on her heels and looked up at the detectives with a sigh. 

“Well, there’s not much to be said...the cause of death appears to be the same as the other two victims - though we’ve yet to determine precisely _what_ _caused_ their deaths. In any case, he appears to exhibit the same thin lines of scarring to his face and hands as the other two victims. By my estimation, he could have been killed between two and six this morning, unfortunately, with this heat, that’s about as accurate as I can get at the moment.” 

She got to her feet, and straightened her crisp blue dress. 

“I hope the post-mortem will provide more information. I’ll get started straight away.” 

“Thank you, Julia,” said Murdoch, though he still looked rather troubled.

“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” added Watts, looking up at her from his careful examination of the victim’s wallet.

Julia nodded to the morgue attendants who began to collect the unfortunate Rev. E. Winters.

She smiled sadly at Murdoch. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Murdoch sighed, “It’s just this case...it is proving exceedingly difficult. First the “bombless bombs” and now three suspicious murders, with no apparent cause of death…” 

Julia kissed him chastely on the cheek. “If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’d be you and Detective Watts.”

She shot a smile at Watts, “Good day, Detective Watts. William, I’ll send word as soon as I have more for you.” She followed the morgue attendants up the alley to the waiting wagon. Murdoch turned to Watts and found him standing where the body had lain, carefully examining the wall with a pocket magnifying lens. 

“Have you found anything of interest?” 

Watts leaned away from the wall, and turned to look at Murdoch. “Take a look at this.” 

William approached taking the glass and looking carefully at the soot-stained brick wall. Faint markings - thin lines that looked almost like lightning were spread across the wall. Murdoch’s stomach sank.

He looked at Watts. “These are the same markings as those on Reverend Winters and...”

Watts nodded emphatically, “And the other victims.” 

Watts traced his finger along a section of the brick pensively, “It almost reminds me of jellyfish stings...like electric tendrils…”

Murdoch still looked flabbergasted, a look that was new for the stoic detective. “What on Earth could have caused this? To cause the same markings _behind_ the victim...” 

“Sirs,” came a voice. Constable George Crabtree approached with his notepad in hand. 

“I spoke to the man who discovered the body - Mr. David Jones. He's a labourer at the distillery back this way. He was just starting his shift, bringing some supplies round back, when he stumbled upon the victim half an hour ago. He phoned it in - Mr. Jones was quite shocked, he thought perhaps it was a drunkard sleeping off a night of drink.”

“Did he recognize the man, George?” asked Murdoch.

“No, Sir.”

“Thank you, George. We’ll need to question everyone, see if we can find any witnesses.” He handed George the card. “The victim appears to be a Reverend Ebenezer Winters. We’ll need to find a next of kin to identify him, and find out what he was doing here in the wee hours of the morning.”

“Of course, Sir. The lads are already canvassing the area, trying to find if anyone noticed anything last night.” 

“On the ball as usual, I see George,” said Watts with a crooked smile. George smiled and ducked his head. He paused a moment then cautiously looked up at them.

“Sirs, I think…” he stopped himself again, took a breath and started, “I realize that the information didn’t come from the most _trustworthy_ source…”

Murdoch barely stopped himself rolling his eyes. Of course George would latch onto _that_...the only “witness” that had come forward during their investigation of the previous body they’d discovered had been a man who was clearly mad with drink...or worse - he had been only vaguely coherent when he described the perpetrator who (he claimed) had murdered his drinking companion...

“George, if you’re referring to the drunkard who reported a _‘smoky ghost cloud’_...”

“Sir, I know it sounds absurd, but please, hear me out! We’ve never seen anything like this! Your scientific experiments haven’t been able to explain-”

“Just because we haven’t been able to find an explanation _yet_ doesn’t mean that one does not exist. It doesn’t mean we should resort to chasing _ghosts_ . We are men of _reason_ , Constable.” 

“Plenty of rational men believe in ghosts, Sir! Look at Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!”

“Constable Crabtree,” huffed Murdoch, “Before we waste any time following the advice of such a _questionable witness_ , I suggest we look for more _reasonable explanations_.”

George looked to Watts, who seemed to have difficulty containing his amusement. 

“Constable,” Watts said finally, “I admire your enthusiasm and your desire to leave nary a stone unturned. In your inquiries, make notes of any odd detail that witnesses might have noticed, terrestrial or otherwise.” Placing his hand on Crabtree's shoulder, he deftly led him away from Murdoch and back up the alley. “Be careful not to ask leading questions however, we must be impartial as we collect information. Let your conclusions be derived from the facts rather than seeking facts to prove your conclusion.” With one last pat on the shoulder, he sent Crabtree on his way.

“Thank you, Sir!” called George, as he took off with a spring to his step. Watts turned back to Murdoch who looked entirely unimpressed.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, Detective Watts! George is a great policeman, and would make an excellent detective if he could keep his mind on this _realm of reality_.” 

Watts merely shrugged, “George can get quite fantastical, yes, but in a case such as this where we have precious little to go on, any clue, no matter how absurd might prove to be of value. It was Bertrand Russell who said, ‘Whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities.’ I try to keep an open mind. Everything seems irrational and outlandish until proven. Think of the ridicule and condemnation Copernicus and Galileo faced when they presented the Heliocentric model of the Solar System. We are rational, yes, men of reason, and it’s likely that the inebriated chap is seeing things-”

Murdoch scoffed, “ _Quite_ likely.”

  
“But we also don’t know how the attacks are being perpetrated. For all we know it could be caused by-”

“A smoke monster?” said Murdoch sardonically, with raised eyebrows. 

“Or, some sort of...toxic chemical cloud that could cause such hallucinations...a new weapon perhaps, an elaborate hoax to frighten the residents of Toronto and cover up a series of crimes...Whoever is perpetrating these crimes by whatever means...any details, no matter how outlandish or trivial-seeming, could paint us a broader picture.”

At this Murdoch paused. “Perhaps you may have a point.”

Watts smiled, “Come, Detective, let’s track down this alleged _Smoke Monster_.” 

* * * * * * *

A few streets away, a boy with black hair stood anxiously at an upstairs window. The glass was grimy, the sill weathered and in need of a fresh coat of paint. He tried to distract himself with the tiny details, like counting the striations in the wood of the sill but to no avail. His heart was hammering loudly in his chest, though not loudly enough to drown out the noises from below. He felt _something_ swirl inside him. 

He could hear shouting from downstairs in the chapel. Then there was a sharp _slap_ and he heard a young voice cry out in pain. Then he heard the sound of more strikes land and a soft wailing cry. He began to shake.

All too soon, he heard the squeak of the noisy floorboard just outside the door of the tiny, bare and impersonal room he shared with his siblings. As the door creaked open, his breath caught, and he tried to ready himself for the inevitable, his body still sore from his last beating.

  
* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I realize that perhaps this is an incredibly niche idea here - a Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Murdoch Mysteries crossover. I just find the idea so very amusing, and if there is just one other person who shares this amusement, it would be utterly amazing. 
> 
> I hope you liked it so far! Please review if you are so inclined - this is my first full-length story, and certainly, the first writing I’ve shared so publicly. I would love to hear your thoughts! The first half is complete, the second half is well under way, so I hope to update this regularly!
> 
> I’ve moved the Murdoch Mysteries timeline to the 1920s. This takes place somewhere after the end of season 11. I’ve made Credence 14.
> 
> There will be some deaths - it is a mystery show after all, as well as mentions of violence, abuse (particularly child abuse), characters dealing with depression/ptsd, mentions of period-appropriate prejudice/ableism/homophobia/sexism, drug/alcohol use, minor bloodshed, very minor language. It is not gratuitously violent, dark or vulgar, however - just very human, and (hopefully) true to the nature of both original works.
> 
> Any quotes or characters you recognize were lovingly and reverently borrowed from their respective creators (some references to other mystery shows, works of literature and pop culture!) If any original characters or fictional places bear a resemblance to a real person or place, it is purely coincidental. If it makes you really uncomfortable, please let me know.
> 
> Any real historical figures, actual places, quotations, etc. have all been used with (significant) creative license and perhaps a little tongue-in-cheek nod to the here and now (*cough* McGill Street Arch). 
> 
> Finally, this has been one hell of a year. It has been scary and overwhelming mentally, physically and emotionally. In the seemingly endless days of COVID quarantine, in my own and my family’s struggle with the virus, with the horrors in the news and the injustices and horribleness in the world, this project has been my refuge and solace. When things got dark, painful or scary in my real world, I was able to lose myself in these incredible characters. Anyway, if you somehow stumbled on this odd little story, know that so much love went into this project, and I hope it brings you as much joy to read as it brought me to write. Stay safe and sane out there!
> 
> Talia
> 
> P.S. The summary is not the best, I know. I will probably try to update it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the curious Mr. Scamander.

**Chapter 2**

_29th August, 1925_

Newt Scamander stretched in his seat. His neck had long grown stiff from sitting with his face against the window of the train. The journey felt never-ending, but he enjoyed watching the terrain flash by. Though he was physically tired, his mind hummed with excitement. He never truly grew tired of seeing new sights.

He’d previously spent three years abroad in Oceania, Africa, and Asia researching for his book. He was thinking of calling it “Fantastic Beasts: A Guide to the Magical Creatures that Inhabit Our World.” Perhaps it was too long a title? Well, he’d figure it out eventually.

In the meantime, he was ecstatic to be in the field, studying creatures in their natural habitats. He hoped to revolutionise the way the wizarding world perceived magical creatures. The past three years had been quite a challenge in many ways, but he’d never felt so alive in all his life.

It had been like being reborn after a life of so many difficulties. First his expulsion from Hogwarts, followed by his time in The War. He tried not to think about that - reflecting on The War always left him nauseous and itching to run. Then that soul-crushing office job...he cringed internally.

There was a reason why his boggart was always a monstrous desk of paperwork. He hated being caged in. He relished the freedom of being in the field. The creatures he studied never judged him...well, they did at first perhaps, but once they realised he wasn’t a threat, they didn’t care about his expulsion, his social status, or whether or not his socks matched. The creatures never ridiculed him or tried to control him.

It all had been going so well...then, he’d stopped home temporarily for a visit. He’d gone to see his mum for a few days. He loved his mum deeply, but a few hours in her presence and he felt himself reverting to the awkward teenager he had been, or worse, the broken soldier recently returned from war. Then, to make matters worse, there had been that awkward “celebratory luncheon” with Mum, his brother Theseus and his...well...Leta. She wasn’t anything of his any more really...except perhaps Future Sister-In-Law. He felt his heart sink to his stomach.

Leta Lestrange. Even 3,000 miles away, the mere thought of her made him want to weep. Or vomit. He couldn’t tell which, so he resolved to push those feelings down.

Newton Artemis Fido Scamander was not the sort of person to experience jealousy. No, sir. Newt firmly believed in following his heart. Having lived most of his life being shunned and teased by people who never understood him, he learned at a young age that trying to conform never helped. People have a tendency to hate those different from themselves, yes, but they absolutely despise others who try to be something they’re not. The way he saw it, people would judge and dislike him one way or another, so he might as well be happy in the process.

He was mocked and ridiculed for his sensitive and caring nature. He was judged for his expulsion from school, his difficulty in connecting to people, for electing to study and work with animals rather than following in his father’s and brother’s footsteps and becoming an Auror.

If he had followed people’s expectations, it wouldn’t have much mattered - they’d still have judged him for failing at those expectations. He knew he would never meet their standards, no matter how hard he tried - he could never be his brother, the perfect Theseus. He would always be compared to him but never able to live up to him. They were just too different. One cannot judge an apple by the same criteria one judges...something that’s not an apple...a pair of socks for example (mismatched or otherwise.) Yet that didn't stop others, even his own family, from constantly measuring Newt by Theseus’s rubric. Newt didn't bother even trying to fit that rubric. He would be considered a failure and a disappointment, and above all, he would be miserable.

Instead, Newt lived his life doing precisely what felt right, following his heart, his intuition and his mind (which despite what some people said, was actually quite brilliant.) As a result, jealousy wasn’t an emotion that entered into the realm of Newt Scamander, because Newt never had anything he envied in others. No, he never felt jealousy.

Heartbreak on the other hand was another matter entirely. Leta flashed in his mind’s eye again. Newt sighed. He didn’t blame her of course...he could never blame her. It wasn’t as if any promises had been made between them. He’d thought perhaps that she’d loved him, he knew that he’d loved her, and still did in some ways.

They’d been inseparable in school; she had been his only friend. It had seemed so much simpler then. He remembered the time she’d set off a dungbomb in class just so she could join him in detention. He remembered the long hours they'd spent just talking about everything and anything or sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest just to explore. He remembered her smile, which she only seemed to smile for him. He remembered the kiss they’d shared behind the owlery their 7th year, just before the winter holidays...the suggestion of more to come...the hope and excitement that had filled his heart…

Then his life went totally off the rails.

He remembered that fateful day she’d come running to him, her tear-stained cheeks red, her expressive brown eyes sorrowful, filled with fear and regret. He thought of the shame he felt at his expulsion; not being able to look into his mother’s eyes and face her disappointment and disapproval, not when he knew she already carried the pain of his father’s death close to her heart.

He thought of his deployment, and of Leta’s face when she visited him the night before he left for war. She’d hugged him and cried, begging forgiveness. He failed to put into words then, that there was nothing to forgive, that he loved her and would do it again, give anything for her if he had to. He just hugged her back in silence, allowing their tears to fall slowly till the sun rose and he left for the Eastern Front.

Perhaps that was when their relationship had changed. Perhaps their connection had been coloured by guilt: Leta’s fear that Newt resented her, his life ruined to save hers, or his guilt at never being able to communicate how he felt in words...though he thought his actions had been clear.

Perhaps it was the three long years of hell that robbed him of his very will to live. The Newt that returned home at the war’s end in 1918, just two months shy of his 22nd birthday, was a phantom, a pale echo of the exuberant young man he’d been.

While the war had made Theseus even more brilliant-a superhuman hero- for Newt it had very nearly killed him. Perhaps it would have succeeded in doing so, even long after the boom of artillery fire and roar of dragon flames overhead faded to memory, if not for Dumbledore. Even after he returned home safe from the violence and horrors, he continued to fade away into himself, pulling away from the people he loved. " _Shell-shocked"_ the nicer ones had called it quietly. " _Weak & broken"_ were the harsher diagnoses.

Looking back he saw the chain of events as an inevitable march. Leta was a lonely soul; her young heart was filled with sadness, her life devoid of happiness and love. She had been like a moth drawn to Newt’s light. She’d waited three long, anxious years for his return, and when he finally did, he was not the same he’d been.

Newt’s light had gone out.

Still, she waited three more years. All that while, Newt lost himself in the depths of his depression and listlessness, and still Leta waited. She had visited from time to time, more often that first year, where she ended up conversing with Theseus and Mum as Newt locked himself away, present, yet simultaneously absent. After he moved to London, their visits became less and less frequent. Perhaps that was when Leta & Newt truly ended and when Leta & Theseus began?

Perhaps it was because he could not voice how he felt; how he couldn't find the words to ask for help, or didn't realise he could be helped. Perhaps he thought he was broken beyond repair.

Perhaps she thought he resented her or blamed her for his time at the war. He would never speak of it; he hardly spoke at all, especially not to her, he thought back to the handful of awkwardly silent visits they’d had in his tiny, shabby flat in Lambeth once he’d begun his awful office job at the Ministry. Perhaps she misunderstood...perhaps she believed he no longer loved her, and didn't know how to tell her. He had hoped his actions were clear enough...he’d held on to her hand like a lifeline in those long silent hours. Inside he was screaming, for her, for anyone to see. Perhaps he believed she no longer loved him and was merely being kind. Those niggling doubts were reinforced as their visits became more sporadic and then stopped all together.

Then Newt left. He left with Dumbledore’s help...left England, his job, his flat, his mum, his brother, his life...her.

He just had to get away, to escape, to live.

Three years in the field passed, with Newt slowly healing his shattered psyche as he followed his passion...it was unfair, he thought, to expect her to put her life on hold indefinitely for him. It was unfair to expect her to wait nine years. He’d left her. Not really, not permanently...he’s hoped she’d understand. And perhaps Leta understood better than most what it was to carry a heart filled with pain, hurt, and disappointment. She understood his need to be free, unfortunately, she didn’t have the liberty or luxury of the same.

It seemed inevitable in hindsight that she would fall in love with Theseus who shone brighter and more fervently than Newt and his post-war darkness. Theseus whose brilliant reputation could save Leta from her family’s past. Theseus who perhaps did not fully understand her, but who made her better by his mere presence. Theseus who always was his handsome, wonderful self; uncomplicated, steadfast, a hugger...who made her laugh when Newt could barely keep himself from sobbing. Theseus who was *there.*

Newt didn’t blame his brother...he was just being himself, nor could he ever blame Leta.

Everyone saw Theseus was the superior Scamander brother. Wasn’t it inevitable that Leta would as well? Newt knew he was different. Softer. Odder. From his earliest moments he seemed destined to be alone and misunderstood. He felt like a different species most of the time; as if he were broken somehow, and the world often treated him as such.

Newt never imagined he would ever meet someone who could love and accept him exactly as he was...he’d come closest with Leta, but even at their best, Leta had always been a Slytherin: ambitious and driven. She never could have been content with the life Newt could give her. He could not imagine her trudging through a swamp for days, searching for Streelers, or upon finding the Streelers, collecting their poisonous slime for scientific analysis. Newt would be perfectly content to spend his life writing obscure papers that none but perhaps three magizoology academics in the world would appreciate. Leta always wanted him to be famous.

She wanted to be respected and admired. _Respect and admiration_ were words never spoken in the context of Newt Scamander.

Newt had resigned himself to a lonely life. At first it depressed him immensely, but Newt sought joy and purpose in his work instead. He discovered true friendship and unconditional love from the creatures he encountered and saved, and somewhere along the way in his past three years of solitary travel, Newt found himself in the freedom of the wild. He discovered his strengths, his ingenuity, fearlessness, kindness and quirky sense of humour. He rediscovered his excitement and joy in the face of discovering the unknown and being surrounded by the wonders of creation. He felt his heart soar as he watched phoenixes fly into the sunset in the peaks of the Himalayas. He felt his soul heal as he awkwardly frolicked with Mooncalfs as they danced under the full moon in Australia.

Newt was healing.

Still, in his weakest moments, the sadness wallowed up inside him like a hinkypunk emerging from a bog. It had been particularly bad being home again. He felt the sadness weighing in his chest.

He forced himself to stop.

He focused instead on the other emotions warring inside: the adrenaline and excitement of a new adventure at odds with restlessness at having been cooped up with so many people for so long. He felt the sheer exhaustion in every cell of his body - he’d slept maybe three hours the night before. He had spent the majority of the evening feeding and caring for the creatures to prepare them for his disembarkation. He knew they would be alone for a bit longer than usual, and wanted to make sure they would be wanting for nothing.

He reflected on his voyage. It had been one incredibly long journey. First, the train from London to Liverpool, then the seemingly endless days on the RMS Alaunia. The ship had sailed from Liverpool to Cobh on August 21st, and they’d overnighted offshore of the bustling port city as mail, baggage and passengers were transferred to the mighty ocean liner by boat. Newt didn’t mind travelling by sea - he always had an affinity for the water, if his Patronus was anything to go by. Spending days and nights in close-quarters on the ship with hundreds of humans...er...strangers, however, was almost too much for Newt to bear. He felt awkward at mealtimes in the great dining hall where he had to make small talk with the other passengers.

The only peace he’d felt was when he’d locked himself in his case to care for the creatures he was rehabilitating. The Re’em in particular needed his attention. He’d *rescued* her from a smuggler he’d encountered in Greece on his way home to England. The poor thing had been beaten and starved, her golden mane patchy and matted, and her blood nearly drained dry. Re’em blood was incredibly valuable - it gave immense strength to the drinker for a short while. Human greed and lack of empathy lead to countless poor creatures suffering similar fates.

This particular creature - Orlaith, he’d called her because of her brilliant golden hide, which was growing back luxuriously under Newt’s care, was the primary reason for Newt’s new adventure. Newt was excited to begin the “Americas” leg of his research.

Re’ems were native to the wild prairies and forests of north-central Canada. Now that Orlaith was returning to health (Newt estimated she’d be fully recovered physically in another week or so) he was determined to reintroduce her to the wild. He hoped to find a pack of Re’ems in Saskatchewan or Alberta that would welcome her into their fold.

Apart from the time he spent with his creatures, Newt whiled away many solitary hours writing and revising his drafts, and alternately staring at the endless expanse of blue of sea and sky.

The ship had next landed in Montreal, where all the passengers had to be evaluated by a health inspector. Half the passengers then disembarked. It was a lengthy process. Newt amused himself by watching the goings about on the dock - the steady hum of human activity reminded Newt of bees in a hive.

He was relieved when the ship set sail again for the last stop on its journey - Quebec City. There he’d finally finally disembarked with the remaining passengers, mostly immigrants all staring at the city with hope, wonder, and perhaps some trepidation in their travel-weary eyes.

Newt took his time meandering the streets of the city the short distance from the port to the Gare du Palais. He had stopped for a quick breakfast, a cup of tea and a croissant in a small café across from the station, relishing the feel of firm ground beneath his feet for a short while before having to board the train to Toronto. The station’s castle-like exterior had reminded Newt slightly of Hogwarts, and he allowed himself a wistful smile into his tea cup.

After several hours on the train, however, he was quite spent. There were faster routes - a transatlantic portkey from London to Ottawa for example, and another from Ottawa to Regina or Calgary followed by a good long hike into the wild - but the last thing Newt needed was an over-excited wizarding customs agent rifling through his case. The handy “muggle” setting on his lock allowed him to pass muggle border inspections without so much as a “hang on there, young man!” He’d travelled mostly by muggle means since he began his fieldwork. It was slower, yes, but he’d seen more of the world than he’d ever have imagined possible. It wasn’t as startling for the creatures, it gave him time to write and revise, and it allowed him to travel relatively incognito.

Still, he could have begun his trans-Canadian journey from Quebec or Montreal directly if not for Albus Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore had always been adamant about Newt taking muggle means of transport. He had suggested the route, informing Newt that Toronto was lovely this time of year. Newt got the message.

As much as he hated being controlled or told what to do, Newt had a soft-spot for his old professor. He’d been the only one to encourage Newt to follow his passions. He'd always been a mentor and advocate. It was Dumbledore who had argued against Newt’s expulsion; Dumbledore who somehow managed for Newt to be allowed to complete his studies at home. He was the one to regularly check in on Newt by post while he was at war, and when he returned, shell-shocked and miserable, it was Dumbledore who’d steadfastly spent many an afternoon with Newt as Newt sat staring listlessly into his tea in a silent stupor. He was the one who supported his fledgling dream to quit his thankless desk job; he who helped Newt to negotiate his book deal with the publisher and get an advance so he could fund his fieldwork without relying on financial support from his disapproving mother. He even helped Newt gain some extra pocket money by putting him in contact with a friend, the editor for the travel journal, _The Wandering Wizard_ , who’d agreed to publish the occasional essay Newt wrote about the cities he visited and the natural wonders he encountered.

Newt was a Hufflepuff at heart and loyal to a fault. If Dumbledore advised Newt to go to Toronto, he would go, no questions asked. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what _Toronto the Good_ had in store for him. What could he possibly expect to find there? Newt would have to wait and see.

He hugged his case to his chest and rested his chin on it, whispering soothing words to the creatures inside. He knew they couldn’t hear him, but he hoped the sentiment would get through. With renewed excitement, he watched as the train sped along the shore of Lake Ontario toward his next adventure.

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter, particularly all the historical research. The Alaunia actually did arrive in Quebec City on 29th August, 1925. It was so serendipitous to find it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Terrence Meyers appears.

Chapter 3

Julia Ogden was frustrated, though she tried to hide it. After weeks of experimenting and racking their brains, they were no closer to any solution in this strange case. 

The explosions were bad enough, with no trace of incendiary devices, no clear way in which they could be executed. Now three people were dead, and despite her experience and vast knowledge, she couldn’t for the life of her, figure out what had happened to the victims.

There were no traces of poisons, no gun or knife wounds, no internal hemorrhaging, or signs of suffocation, no blunt force trauma. With the exception of the strange markings (and the obvious fact that they were all dead) the victims all appeared in perfect health. She wondered for the umpteenth time if she could get away with writing “unnatural causes” on their death certificates. No, she was at a loss. She sighed. She looked at the strange markings on Ebenezer Winters’s face and arms. She desperately wanted to know what caused them. 

* * * * * * *

“I should have known,” muttered Detective Murdoch angrily. His day had just gotten infinitely more complicated.

Terrance Meyers had entered the building.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that Terrance Meyers always complicated things. Between his “government-approved” heavy-handedness, his "matters of national security," and the sheer complexity of the cases in which he was involved, Terrance Meyers always spelled trouble. He never failed to make a bad situation worse. 

This time it appeared he brought some friends. 

Murdoch did not know what to make of the man that followed Meyers into the Station. Something about him just felt...off. Something about his gaze was too intense, his posture too straight. He gave Murdoch the appearance of an actor in a role. Associated with the likes of Meyers, he probably was in some capacity - after all, spies and actors were quite similar in nature. He was impeccably dressed, but the cut of his suit was unlike anything Murdoch had ever seen. 

Accompanying the two men was a beautiful young woman with curly blond hair, bobbed and artfully arranged in the latest fashion. She was elegantly attired in a flattering pale pink dress with a matching hat. Meyers handed her a stack of papers. 

“You’ll post these directly, Miss Goldstein, and please inform the Ambassador that I’ll meet him at seven this evening at his hotel. Ah, Murdoch, there you are! Just the man! This is my associate, Percival Graves,” he nodded to the strange man, “My secretary, Miss Goldstein was just leaving.” 

Murdoch inclined his head politely. Miss Goldstein smiled brightly then began to make her way out of the station. 

“Graves, this is the Detective chap I’ve told you about.” 

“Pleasure,” said Graves. He didn’t sound pleased. He didn’t offer his hand. Neither did Murdoch. Watts meandered his way over, shot Murdoch an inquisitive look, and scratched his neck awkwardly. 

“This is Detective Watts. Watts, you’ve met Terrance Meyers. And this is his colleague Percival Graves.”

Graves eyed Watts carefully. Watts nodded politely. 

“What brings you to Stationhouse Four, gentlemen?” asked Watts.

“A word?” said Meyers raising his eyebrows mysteriously, “In private?” 

Murdoch blinked sarcastically, before collecting himself with a sigh. He nodded towards his office. Watts spun on his heel and led the way, Murdoch following after the two government agents. 

* * * * * * *

Something about her was utterly bewitching. George Crabtree could not stop thinking about her. Nothing could quell the swell of his heart he felt in his chest when she’d smiled at him. She smiled! At him!!

He had been pouring through and compiling witness statements at his desk, when he glanced up by chance and saw the most beautiful creature, an absolute angel, with curly blond hair and gentle eyes. She practically floated, fluttering through the room like a butterfly in her rose chiffon dress, and elegant matching cloche hat. The hat drew his eyes instantly. Aunt Primrose would absolutely have adored it: The trimming was most expertly done, embellished with delicate silk roses, with a wide white ribbon tied into...he held his breath as he looked carefully...a knot? No! An elaborate bow (She was single! How such a divine creature could be single was beyond him!)

She had entered the station house with two men, though he couldn’t describe who they were or what they looked like, for he only had eyes for her. The rest of the world paled in comparison. She turned to leave a moment later. On her way out towards the door, she passed before his desk again. The air was filled with her perfume, it ticked his senses, something, soft, warm and floral. She glanced up at him and smiled. Time froze. His heart stopped. His breath caught. 

He was totally smitten. He couldn’t even ask her name. He’d forgotten how to speak, forgotten he even had a mouth. She continued walking, taking his mind with her.

He would have sat there staring after her, long after she disappeared through the door...for the rest of his life even, if not for the ringing of his telephone.

* * * * * * *

As Murdoch closed the door, Meyers immediately shut the blinds. 

Murdoch raised his eyebrows and shot an exasperated look at Watts who looked amused, a small smirk playing on his lips, before quickly schooling his expression.

“Top secret then, is it Meyers?” asked Murdoch sarcastically.

“Murdoch, you have no idea. This case makes all our previous ones look like child’s play.” 

“Well,” replied Murdoch, “Let’s have it then.” 

“We’re here about the Bombless Bombs case and the subsequent murders.”

“Of course you are. I presume they’re all caused by some top-secret weapon the Canadian government is attempting to purchase? Like that microwave gun all over again…” said Murdoch sarcastically. 

Meyers and Graves exchanged a dark look. 

“Something like that, Murdoch.” 

  
Murdoch quirked an eyebrow, waiting for Meyers to continue. When he didn’t, Murdoch exclaimed: “If you know anything about these attacks, you must tell me - this is a murder investigation!”

“The specific nature of the cause of these attacks is not of import,” replied Graves coldly. 

“I beg to differ.”

“Murdoch, this situation-” began Meyers, only to be interrupted by Graves.

“...is far larger and more complex than you can even begin to comprehend.”

Murdoch and Watts looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Then help us to comprehend,” said Watts.

Graves scoffed, “We wouldn’t even be wasting time involving you in this case if not for Meyers - he seems to think you have a knack for seeing connections.”

Murdoch, whose temper was already running short, snapped, “We were already involved in this case due to the loss of life and destruction taking place in our city. For you this may be a game of international intrigue, but people are dying! If you have any information pertinent to this case, let us know now.”

At their firm silence, Murdoch continued, “If you keep this up, I shall have you both arrested for impeding a police investigation and wasting police time!”

Meyers responded, “Murdoch, we are not at liberty to say much. These are not just State secrets - it's a matter of _international_ import. Whatever information you have to share with us, we need to move quickly - forces are moving around the globe that could spell disaster.” 

“Meyers, you ask for our assistance, and yet you always keep us in the dark.”

Meyers looked at Murdoch and said, “The cases are all related - the explosions, the murders -we’re not sure of the exact cause, but we suspect it has to do with...a terrorist organization operating out of the Continent. That’s all we know...all we can say for now. What we need is any information you may have noticed - any connections between the victims. Anything odd that you’ve come across in your investigations.” He fumbled with something in his pocket distractedly. “We’ve hit a wall in ours. We need your help.” 

Murdoch and Watts exchanged another look. They’d managed to keep the strange markings out of the papers, and neither was willing to share the information just yet. Watts began to speak.

“Gentlemen, our investigation is ongoing, and there is not much we can say either. We have on our hands three murder cases in which the cause of death is incredibly unclear, and a string of property damage cases, the causes of which are also...well...unclear. To paraphrase Socrates, the only thing we know is that we know nothing. We have no concrete evidence to suggest the cases to be connected beyond our own suspicions, and your vague assertations...the only clear connection is the glaring absence of details.”

He was interrupted by a knock on Murdoch’s door.

“Sirs,” said George as he walked in, then paused upon seeing the other gentlemen.  
  
“...But, we’ll be sure to update you if we find anything else,” finished Murdoch quickly, “now if you’ll excuse us, we have another matter to discuss with Constable Crabtree.” 

He ushered Meyers and Graves out of his office. Meyers paused at the door, “Remember, Murdoch. Anything at all - lives are at stake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He shut the door after him, pausing to make sure they were walking away. He then turned to Watts and asked, “What do you make of that?”

“I’ve never witnessed a conversation in which less was said...An international terrorist organization from Europe?”

“Yet no specifics, no details to back anything up!” 

“Hmm, yes. That Graves fellow was a bit unsettling.” 

“It’s inevitable that Terrance Meyers will make a complicated situation worse.” Murdoch sighed, then turned and said, “What have you, George?”

“Sirs, Dr. Ogden called, she has completed the post-mortem…”

“Excellent! I hope she has some more information for us,” said Murdoch. He opened the door and began to walk out, Watts on his heels. Crabtree followed quickly as well.

“Sirs, there is more - I was able to find more information on the victim, the Reverend E. Winters. He led a congregation, the New Salem Society, whose headquarters are located not far from where the body was found.” He handed a slip of paper with the address over to Murdoch. 

“Thank you George, we’ll head directly to the New Salem Society after we stop at the morgue.” 

“Sirs, one more thing,” said George, “We’ve been interviewing locals to see if anyone has seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. Many claim to not have seen anything, though there were a few who report being awoken from sleep around two in the morning by a strange noise and a strong wind.”

“A strong wind, George?” asked Murdoch weakly.

But Crabtree was not deterred. “Detective, one woman, a Lottie Saunders - a ‘lady of the night’ if you will...she has quarters with a window overlooking the alley where Winters was found.”

“Excellent, George. Perhaps this is the break we’ve been waiting for!” said Watts excitedly.

Murdoch was not as optimistic, however. 

“And did she _witness_ anything, George?”

“Yes, Sir- I have the notes here!”

They entered the morgue as George pulled his notebook out of his pocket.

“Well?” 

“Sirs, Miss Saunders had opened her window, as it was quite balmy last evening. She was just seeing out a...well...visitor at around two in the morning, when she heard the most peculiar sound from the alley below. She described it as...a sort of crashing and a pained howling noise - like a “great wind” or “an injured hound.” She ran to the window, but it was too dark to see. All she could make out was what appeared to be a haze of dark smoke ascending above the rooftops. She was so unsettled that she shut the window. She’d never heard anything like it in her life…”

Murdoch just blinked.

“Sirs, I think we should not be so quick to dismiss the Smoke Monster theory.”

“Smoke Monster?” came Julia’s voice. She turned the corner drying her hands on a cloth, and greeting the three with a smile. “Have you had any developments, gentlemen?”

“No,” said Murdoch definitively. 

“But Sir, the witness” started George.

“George, she didn’t actually _witness_ anything…Julia, have you found anything for us?”

Julia’s smile faded; she looked frustrated. “Nothing of note. Mr. Winters was killed sometime between one and three in the morning. His face is covered with the same strange markings as the other victims. There was a slight burn mark on his chest, it could have been from spilled pipe or cigarette ash. There are no outward signs of violence - no wounds to speak of, no known poisons, no signs of asphyxia, or unnatural clotting. If not for the fact that he is dead, the good Reverend appears in perfect health.”

“Any additional thoughts on the markings on the victim's faces and arms?” asked Watts, “We’ve found similar markings on the wall in the alley where the victim was found.” 

“The same markings on the wall? That certainly is strange,” said Julia, “Unfortunately, I'm completely out of ideas of what could possibly have caused them.”

Murdoch paused, looking at Julia.

“Upon reflecting on something Detective Watts said earlier...and with our discussion with Terrance Meyers and his associate,” Murdoch turned to Watts looking uncomfortable. “I’m wondering if this could have been caused by some new...electric weapon? These markings - they look like lightning, or as Detective Watts said, the scarring caused by jellyfish tendrils - perhaps someone has invented a device that…” he extended his arms and hands a few feet apart and pushed his fingers forward, “that...shoots...an electric field - like an electric rifle, or a lightning gun - generating a small electric phenomenon...?” Murdoch trailed off. 

George, Watts, and Julia all looked at Murdoch incredulously. 

“It would explain why the victims and the wall behind Winters all exhibit the same markings - if they’d been _blasted_ , for lack of a better word, by an electric field - perhaps at different intensities - it could potentially create those markings…and I’m sure there must be some kind of weapon involved for Meyers to take such an interest in the case,” Murdoch continued, a bit defensively. 

“But that kind of device...how could it possibly work? The science of it is just...and who could possibly create such a weapon?” started Julia, “Perhaps we should reach out to Nikola Tesla. If anybody could explore the plausibility of such a device it would be him.”

They all stood in silence for a short while pondering the possibility.

George looked decidedly unconvinced. 

“With all due respect, Sir, I find the Smoke Monster explanation infinitely more plausible.”

* * * * * * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murdoch and Watts visit the New Salem Society.

**Chapter 4**

Murdoch and Watts found themselves walking through the crowded back alleys towards the _New Salem Society_. 

“What do you make of this, Detective?” asked Watts to Murdoch, “ _New_ Salem? Salem for _Peace_ from the Hebrew Shalom or Arabic Salim? Or perhaps the Biblical town of which Melchizedek was king?”

“I suppose we’ll soon find out.”

They had arrived at a bleak looking structure. It appeared to have once been a small wooden stable or barn. It had been converted at some point to a chapel of sorts. Now it was desperately in need of repair. 

A weathered banner over the door read “ _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! - Exodus 22:18_ ” On the door a flier for a soup kitchen invited hungry children to practice “missionary work” in exchange for food. Gaping cracks ran against the walls of the chapel where wooden planks had rotten away. Watts imagined it would be bitterly cold in the winter. It was a depressing place. 

Watts cocked his head and raised his eyebrows and hummed. “Ah, so Salem, as in the town in America, in which innocents were executed as _witches_ three hundred or so years ago. Got it.”

He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

Murdoch grimaced and knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by possibly the saddest looking child they’d ever seen. She looked to be about seven years old, and was all skin and bone - her skin sallow, her brown eyes dull and hollow, blond hair hanging limply around her face. She was dressed in an unseasonably heavy, shapeless gray gown, messily tailored down from an adult garment to fit her tiny frame. Still, the sleeves were too long, and the hem draped the floor, her scuffed brown shoes barely poking through.

“Hello, Miss! What’s your name?” asked Watts gently. The girl just stared at him.

Watts felt his heart grow heavy for the unfortunate child. He squatted down to eye level with the girl to appear less intimidating.

She stared at him unblinkingly. It was quite unsettling.

Undeterred, he spoke, “My name is Detective Watts, this is my colleague, Detective Murdoch. We are here on important police business. Is there an adult present we can speak-”

“Modesty! What are you doing at the door?!” came a screeching shout from inside. 

Watts stood abruptly. A woman appeared in the doorway roughly yanking the girl -Modesty- away into the dark room and shouted at them, “You’ve missed lunch, and dinner starts promptly at six…” catching sight of them, her eyes narrowed “and it’s _only_ for children!” 

“Ma’am, I’m Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary,” said Murdoch quickly. He flicked open his jacket to reveal the badge pinned to his waistcoat. “This is Detective Watts,” he nodded his head. “We are here on police business, I’m afraid. Is there someplace we can speak...Mrs....?”

“Miss. Barebone, Mary Lou Barebone,” she eyed them suspiciously, folding her arms across her chest. Despite the heat, she was dressed in a puritanical, high-collared long back dress with long sleeves. Her brown hair was chopped in a severe bob. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. Her face gave the impression of one that had probably never smiled.

“Come in, then,” she said finally. Pulling the door further open. The sunlight barely touched the dreary room. A dozen or so poor children were lined up collecting what appeared to be stacks of pamphlets from a frightfully thin girl. Her severe dark dress made her almost disappear into the gloom if not for her sickly skin and red-blond hair. 

Mary Lou Barebone led them through the room, handing off a stack of pamphlets to a sallow-skinned boy with hunched shoulders and stringy black hair. Watts paused to take one, tucking it into his jacket before following her past the pulpit to a small door in the far back. 

The door led to a small office room, lit by a single naked lightbulb. A desk was covered in more of the pamphlets and stacks of paper. There was only one chair, a spindly high-backed wooden chair that looked incredibly uncomfortable. 

Watts and Murdoch exchanged a look. Watts hung back, leaning against the wall, awkwardly fidgeting with his hat in his hands. 

Murdoch approached the chair, pulling it out slightly.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Miss Barebone,” said Murdoch kindly, nodding at the seat. She remained standing with a glare.

Putting her hands on her hips, she snapped, “I’m very busy, Detective. We’re just about to leave on important missionary work, preaching to the good people of Toronto.”

“We understand, Miss Barebone, we wouldn’t dream of taking up your time if it were not of the greatest importance,” said Watts from the corner, his tone somewhere between sincere and sarcastic. 

“Miss Barebone, do you know Reverend Ebenezer Winters?” asked Murdoch, pulling a photograph out of his breast pocket. 

“Yes, the good Reverend is my cousin. Together he and I lead the New Salem Society, he is active in our missionary work, and he preaches here, trying to educate these children about the wickedness of the world.”

“When did you last see him?” asked Murdoch. 

“I saw him here last night at evening prayer, before we all retired for the night. We got back around nine; we’d been out preaching...”

“We?”

“Ebenezer, myself, and the children.”

“Do you all live here?” asked Watts. 

“Ebenezer has a room down here at the back of the chapel. I have a room upstairs, and three of the orphans that I’ve adopted - Credence, Chastity and Modesty, share a room upstairs as well.”

“The last you saw him was nine last night?”

“Yes!”

Watts looked at her suspiciously. “You all live together here. Did you not think it odd that you haven’t seen him since last night?”

“My cousin spends a great deal of time in his room in prayer and reflection, and doing the Lord’s work around the city. What are all these questions pertaining to?”

Murdoch looked at Watts carefully. Watts was normally an unorthodox character, but he was a very good Detective. Was Watts being so abrupt with Miss Barebone in the hopes it would goad her into speaking? Or did he suspect her of something untoward? Was this to be good-constable-bad-constable? 

Murdoch turned to Miss Barebone and replied gently, “This may come as a bit of a shock, Miss Barebone, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Reverend Ebenezer Winters was found dead this morning, not far from here.” 

“No!” 

“We believe him to have died under suspicious circumstances.” Murdoch handed her the photograph.

“NO!”

Mary Lou paled with shock the photograph fell from her hand, and she covered her mouth, trembling with emotion. She sat forcefully in her chair. 

“We need to know if there is anyone who had a quarrel with your cousin, anyone who wished to do him harm, and we very much would like to trace his movements last night…”

“This has to do with _them_ , I’m sure of it.” 

“Who is _them_ , Miss Barebone?”

“The Witches!” she snapped, her eyes narrowed. 

“ _Witches_ ” repeated Watts, eyebrows raised. 

She looked slightly deranged. “Ebenezer and I have devoted our lives to fighting witches...they live among us, they try to destroy good, God-fearing folk with their wicked, devil-worshipping ways. They’re the scourge that is destroying our civilisation!”

Mary Lou handed them each a pamphlet. This time Watts flipped through it carefully. Images of fire and women dancing with the devil in a forest, snippets of scripture...dire warnings in bold...it looked like the ravings of a madman. 

“You might laugh at us...they all do. No one wants to believe that Evil walks amongst us, least of all you men of the Law - you think you have power in maintaining order, but you are WRONG. Witches are real, and they are trying to kill us all! We must eradicate them before they destroy everything we hold dear.”

“We’re not laughing, Miss Barebone,” said Watts carefully, “We’re trying to find the person or persons responsible for your cousin’s death, and we _will_ bring them to justice.”

“Do you have any idea what your cousin might have been doing out at two in the morning?” asked Murdoch.

“He would never be out and about at such an ungodly hour!” 

“Except he _was_. He was killed where he was found: in the alley behind the distillery, and we are certain it happened around 2 in the morning,” retorted Watts. 

“My cousin never drank, he never went out at night...those witches must have stolen him away! They got to him, my poor, poor cousin!”

“We have found two other victims in the past few weeks, we believe their deaths are related -” Murdoch tried to hand her photographs, “Have you ever seen either of these men?” 

But Miss Barebone appeared to be beyond reason. She ignored Murdoch and began to rock herself in the chair muttering, “My poor cousin, what have they done to you, my poor good cousin, those Witches have taken you too soon.”

“Or perhaps, you could give us a list of people who might have wished him harm?” asked Watts, trying to keep his tone even. 

At that, Miss Barebone glared at him, “I’ve already told you-”

“Yes,” said Watts, frustration seeping into his voice despite his best efforts, “But anything more specific? Do you have the names of any of these _witches?_ Where can we find them?”

“They’re _everywhere_!” said Miss Barebone, standing up quickly. “They walk among us. My cousin is dead, and they live on, gloating, and all you do is stand there and ask questions, when we should be fighting! We are at WAR! I have to go, I - we have to preach! It’s what Ebenezer would have wanted!” She brushed past them shouting, “We shall not suffer a witch to live!!” 

She flung open the door to the chapel and called for the children to fall in line. 

Murdoch and Watts ran out after her. “Miss Barebone, a moment please...we would like to check the Reverend’s room for any clues, and we will need to speak with you further - we will also need you to come down to the Stationhouse, to give a statement and formally identify the victim...this is a murder investigation...” called Murdoch. 

“We have too much to do right now. This scourge must not be allowed to continue. We must fight fire with fire!” She ushered them out along with the small army of street urchins. “Come along, children, towards City Hall!”

She led the way, the group of hungry destitute children following behind her, looking warily at the pamphlets in their hands. The three Barebone children hung towards the back of the party. The older girl, Chastity, was walking with her eyes straight ahead, her arms full of leaflets. The boy, Credence was staring at the ground, one arm holding a stack as well and holding Modesty’s left hand in his right. Modesty hopped along, surprisingly animated, chanting softly to herself. 

“ _My momma, your momma, gonna catch a witch. My momma, your momma, flying on a switch. My momma, your momma, witches never cry. My momma, your momma, witches gonna die! Witch number one, drown in a river! Witch number two, gotta noose to give ‘er! Witch number three, gonna watch her burn. Witch number four, flogging take a turn…”_

Watts felt his stomach turn with dread at the girl’s words. Credence glanced desperately at the Detectives as he walked past, his pale cheeks burning in shame. Watts smiled sadly. Credence averted his glance immediately. 

Once they were out of earshot, Watts muttered, “I’m starting to agree with Constable Crabtree - perhaps Smoke Monsters _are_ the least mad of all... _witches_ ?” He scoffed.

He stopped to pick up one of the pamphlets that Miss Barebone had dropped, careful to use his handkerchief and avoid touching it. He wrapped it before slipping it into his jacket pocket. He tapped his coat pocket, “I figured we could try to pull fingermarks...just in case.”   
  
“Ah, good thinking Watts...you suspect Miss Barebone?”   
  
Watts huffed in frustration, “She seems very suspicious. I perceived her to be a rather cruel woman and at least half mad, I'd say. She’s connected with Winters - but we have yet to find if she has any correlation with the other two victims. We have precious little information in this case... It may amount to nothing.” 

He sighed. “Then again, who is to know whether or not in the near future we will be arresting her on suspicion of murder of an “witch.” _‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live…’_ ” he shook his head. 

“You seemed particularly mistrustful of her…” continued Murdoch.

“I know her type,” said Watts abruptly before changing the subject, “What next, Detective? Should we search Mr. Winters’s room now, or come back later when the Barebone brood has returned so we can conduct those interviews as well?”

Murdoch blinked at the abrupt change of topic, but if Watts was unwilling to speak about it, he wouldn’t push him. Instead he said, “We might as well search the room now. Perhaps it’s for the best that Miss Barebone and the children be otherwise occupied. I would dearly like to further interview Miss Barebone - as well as the children.” 

“Hmmm, the boy in particular seemed uncomfortable about this entire situation, perhaps he witnessed something?” asked Watts.

“Perhaps. There was a police phone box at the corner, start with Mr. Winters’s room, I’ll call the station and get some of the lads to keep an eye on their ‘missionary work’ at City Hall, I’ll join you shortly,” replied Murdoch.

* * * * * * *

Inspector Brackenreid put down the receiver with a sigh. He poured himself a few fingers of whisky before making his way over to his office door and opened it roughly. He glanced out and saw Crabtree sitting at his desk with his chin rested in his palm, staring off into space.

“Oi, Bugalugs!” 

George Crabtree came running, “Sir?”

“What is with you today? You’re being a right Happy Dafty. Your head is in the clouds...more than it usually is.”

“Sir, I-“

“Save it. I just got a call from Murdoch, Crabtree. There is some sort of rally happening near City Hall. He’s asked some of the lads to head over and keep an eye on things. One of the participants may have information on the Winters murder, Miss Barebone of The Second Salem Society or some bollocks. Apparently she's obsessed with witches - This one seems right up you alley!” 

“ _Witches_ , Sir?”

“Aye...we’ve had Martians, Venutians, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, sea monsters, zombies....nothing shocks me anymore, Crabtree. I wouldn’t be surprised if these bombs and murders are the work of an abominable snowman.” 

“Well, Sir...funny you should say that...I’ve been following the several witness testimonies regarding the possibility of a Smoke Monster...”

Brackenreid blinked, sighed, then took a long sip of his drink. He swallowed, savouring the burn. Finally he said, speaking into his glass, “Smoke Monster, eh? _Now_ , I’ve heard it all.”

Looking up, he saw Crabtree still standing there uncertainly.

“Well, hop to it then, take Higgins, McNabb, Worseley and Hodge with you...off you pop.”

“Straight away, Sir.” Crabtree made his way out to grab his helmet and rally the lads.

“Oh, and Crabtree,” called Brackenreid, “If it is the work of smoke monsters or witches, or smoke monsters and witches, or bewitching smoke, or smoking witches, I couldn’t care a toss, as long as they end up locked away in my cells.” 

“Right, Sir.” 

* * * * * * *

Murdoch made his way to Winters’s room and paused in the doorway. The room was bare and impersonal. Watts appeared to have already looked through the little there was. 

“There wasn’t much to be found here, Detective Murdoch. A pair of well-worn shoes in the closet, a winter coat, and a suit. In the drawer are some shirts, collars and undergarments. A belt. Can you imagine a human life leaving no trace but this?” 

His hand brushed the well-worn bible on Winters’s bedside table. He picked it up and flipped through it - certain passages were highlighted with notes in the margins. 

“Perhaps this will be of use?” he mused to himself, adding the Bible on the Reverend’s writing desk.

On the desk sat yet another stack of pamphlets and what appeared to be a number of notebooks. 

“Was there anything in the journals?” asked Murdoch.   
  
“Mostly it seemed to be notes for his sermons. Though, I imagine they, like the Reverend’s bible, are deserving of a closer look.” 

“No personal correspondences, no photographs or anything of that nature,” said Murdoch as he flipped through the journals, “Just dire warnings about witchcraft.” 

“The Reverend seemed to have been a man obsessed,” mused Watts, searching under the Reverend’s pillows and lifting his mattress. 

“Aha!” he said, and crawled to his knees to reach under Winters’s bed. He pulled out a large wooden crate - it was stamped with the name of a printer shop in the Ward on all sides.

“I hope this doesn’t turn out to be yet more of those pamphlets,” said Watts with a wry smile, placing the box on the bed. Murdoch chuckled and made his way over. Lifting the lid, Watts whistled to himself.

Inside the box were thousands of newspaper clippings and sheets of paper covered in scrambling writing. 

Murdoch pulled out a stack, flipping through, he said, “These go back at least ten years.”

Watts held up a newspaper clipping with an image of the mayor walking arm and arm with his wife. Across her face written in the Reverend’s handwriting were the words _‘Mayor bewitched!?’_

He appeared to see witchcraft in _everything_ \- too much snowfall, not enough snowfall, jazz music, dancing, any injury or accident of any kind, women's suffrage, in both the passing and the repealing of the _Prohibition_...it appeared that any life not devoted to stamping out witchcraft was assumed to be witchcraft. 

“Well, this is...quite shocking,” said Watts softly, flipping to another newspaper article from 1921, announcing the election of Agnes Macphail to the House of Commons. Winters had crossed out her eyes and written “Exodus 22:18” across her face. In the margin: “A woman in elected office?! Witchcraft!”

“Perhaps these New Salem-ers are the terrorist organisation that Meyers mentioned?” asked Murdoch. “Perhaps in this witch hunt madness they’ve begun to kill people they perceive as threats?” 

“Perhaps,” replied Watts, “Though, to my knowledge, Miss Macphail is still among the living. In any rate, why would they target one of their own? Unless a rival terrorist group killed Mr. Winters?”

“Let’s get these over to Stationhouse Four, we’ll look at them more closely. I would like to get to the rally at City Hall and keep a close eye on the New Salemers,” said Murdoch. 

The chapel appeared even more dreary and claustrophobic as they walked back across it and out into the sunshine carrying the Reverend’s documents.

There was something very wrong at the New Salem Society, and Murdoch and Watts were determined to get to the bottom of it.

* * * * * * *  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note about Agnes Macphail - she was Canada's first female Member of Parliament - first elected to the House of Commons in 1921 (She was also the first female Canadian delegate to the League of Nations!) She was an powerful progressive force and an active figure in Canadian federal and provincial politics in Ontario, championing equal pay, workers' rights, pensions for seniors, and penal reform, amongst other things until her death in the 1950s. 
> 
> "Most women think politics aren't lady-like. Well, I'm no lady. I'm a human being." 
> 
> I just had to share a little bit about her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which chaos reigns.

**Chapter 5**

Newt emerged from Toronto’s Union Station into the brilliant sunshine of a late summer’s day. It felt so good to stretch his legs after so many hours on the train. He heard a scuttle sound coming from his case. He hugged it to his chest and whispered, “I promise, not much longer! I’ll be there soon!” 

He glanced around, making sure he hadn't been overheard while taking in the sights with admiration. Toronto was a lovely city. Though not as bustling or large as London, or some of the other world capitals he'd seen, there was something undeniably charming about Toronto. He began to meander along Bay Street towards the Bank of Toronto to exchange British Pounds for Canadian Dollars. 

After the bank, Newt stopped at a street corner and pulled out the copy of Baedeker’s _Canada Mundane & Magical _that Dumbledore had given him. Though he’d looked it over multiple times on his journey, he was hoping he’d find something of use this time. As happy as he was to explore Toronto for a while before moving on, he knew there was a reason why Dumbledore had been so insistent for him to stop here. 

Thumbing through the book, he paused on the section titled _Toronto-Accommodations_ . There were numerous hotels and boarding houses in both Magical and Muggle Toronto. He’d prefer to stay in the Muggle side for anonymity, but he figured it (whatever it was) must have something to do with Wizarding Toronto, otherwise, Dumbledore would not have him travel so far out of his way. He resolved to make his way towards Toronto's Wizarding district. Newt figured he ought to send word to his mum that he’d arrived safely. Perhaps also a message to Dumbledore, prodding the man for more information on just _what_ he should look out for in _lovely Toronto_. 

He sighed. Perhaps rather than the Magical Post Office, he should look for a transatlantic floo. 

According to _Baedeker_ , the new entrance to magical Toronto, the McGill Street Arch, had just been constructed a few years before. It was a brilliant piece of enchantment: A freestanding stone arch completely invisible to muggles. If one were magical, one need only to walk through, under the plaque that read _Toronto Wizarding District, founded 1793_ , to enter magical Toronto. It was conveniently located, just a stone’s throw from Queen’s Park, which apart from being home to the muggle Provincial Government Offices, was the entrance to the Canadian Magical Parliament of the Province of Ontario (accessed via the Queen Victoria Monument). Newt began to make his way to the Arch. The charming streets hummed with activity. He glanced around taking it all in, allowing his mind to wander. 

As he neared the soaring, elegant, Romanesque Revival structure that was Toronto’s City Hall however, Newt found his way blocked by quite a commotion. A large group had gathered on the steps, under the shadow of the famous clock tower. Many people were shaking their heads and laughing while others seemed to watch with attention or perhaps morbid curiosity. 

Young shabbily dressed children were weaving their way through the gathered throng, distributing leaflets. A woman’s shrill shouts could be heard over the general din. She stood before a giant banner that read ‘New Salem Society’ and featured images of red whorls of flame and hands clutching at what looked like... _broken wands_? What in _Merlin's name?_ Newt drew closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

He passed a young woman dressed in smart dark clothes with short brown hair who’d stopped to ask elderly muggle man, “What’s all this about?” 

The man sighed, “It’s those New Salem-ers, making trouble again. Preaching about witches...accusing them of murder...load of rubbish if you ask me.”

The young woman huffed, “I don’t have time for this today,” and pushed roughly through the crowd towards Queen’s Park, but the word _witches_ had caught Newt’s attention. He glanced around at the gathered people - ordinary people. This was a muggle crowd, Newt was sure of it - he had even passed some muggle aurors on patrol (He thought they were called pleasemen? Constables! That was it!) carrying batons and dressed in their funny helmets and dark tunic coats. Something was very wrong if muggles were preaching about witches. Perhaps this had something to do with Dumbledore’s insistence that he come to Toronto? 

Newt wanted to ask the man for more information but he had begun to walk away before Newt could draw nearer. Instead, he made his way forward weaving through people to try to get a better look.

* * * * * * *

Watts and Murdoch made it to the demonstration in record time. They dismounted from their bicycles and left them leaning against the wall of a bakery shop before making their way into the gathering crowd. 

On their way, they passed George.

“Anything to report, George?” asked Watts.

“Nothing, Sir. Miss Barebone is here, with the New Salem Society. They are preaching about the evils of _witchcraft_ of all things. The woman was making some wild accusations about murders and impropriety…”

Watts made a noise he hoped was vaguely sympathetic sounding. He was still far too rattled by their discovery of the Reverend’s files. 

“Anything suspicious?” asked Murdoch.

“No, Sir. Though the crowd seems to be disbelieving, and in some cases, ridiculing the New Salem-ers.” 

He nodded at a band of children who were following one of the New Salem children, teasing and calling names. Watts recognised the Barebone boy with a jolt. He watched as the boy took off into the crowd. He followed urgently, with George and Murdoch following in his stead. 

* * * * * * *  
  


Newt had made it almost to the center when all of a sudden, a small form collided with him, jostling him. His case flew from his hands and clattered to the floor. A boy had toppled over into Newt before falling to the sidewalk, pamphlets fluttering from his hands. Behind him, a crowd of children laughed, jeering. Some nearby adults chucked as well. A constable made his way over as Newt helped the boy to his feet. 

“Are you alright there?” he asked. The boy blushed with shame under his stringy bowl haircut. He mumbled something that Newt couldn’t catch, then sprinted off into the crowd. The jeering children chased after him. Newt picked up a pamphlet, and straightened himself, then felt his heart sink straight to his stomach as his gaze fell on his case, which had landed on its side a few feet away. To his dismay, a small furry creature had wriggled its way out, and was now slipping through the feet of the gathered muggles. 

‘ _Nick! Sneaky little bugger!’_ Newt swore under his breath, grabbed up his case and began to follow quickly. 

“YOU THERE!” came a shrill voice, as Nick vanished behind a young mother and her pram. Momentarily distracted, Newt glanced around him, before looking up. The preacher woman was staring straight at him, her finger pointing towards his chest. “Are YOU a seeker of the Truth?” She asked. 

Newt, now very close to panicking managed a pained smile and replied, “I’m more of a chaser, really. Pardon me,” and then he took off at a quick trot, in the vague direction in which he'd last seen Nick. 

BOOM!

An explosion rent the air, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. 

Dust and debris rained down, and Newt fell to the floor, hitting his head hard against his case, which fell open again. As the panicked masses began to scream and run, he slipped into unconsciousness. 

* * * * * * *

Shouts filled the air, punctuated by the constables’ shrill whistles. 

Watts scrambled to his feet, thoroughly winded but unharmed. He registered the screams around him as if from a distance, his ears still ringing from the boom of the explosion. He glanced around and was relieved to see that Murdoch was already making his way through the debris helping people to their feet. He’d lost sight of George, and felt his stomach sink - he hoped the constable was unharmed. In the time they've worked together, Watts had come to think of George as a friend. 

It was pandemonium. 

Constables and volunteers gathered the wounded - at least 30 men, women and children in various degrees of injury. They dug through the rubble looking for survivors and casualties.

The explosion had torn a newsstand to shreds, the proprietor was slumped on the sidewalk, covered in blood and not moving. Watts couldn’t tell whether he was alive or not. 

Volunteers were making their way over to young boys who were also sprawled, unmoving on the floor nearby. He forced himself to move on, walking into what appeared to have been the epicenter of the blast. 

Murdoch poured over the debris looking for signs of, well, anything. So far his search was turning up empty. He found no markings or shards of incendiary devices. 

“There’s a lot of dust, but no smoke or signs of combustion - what on _Earth_ could have caused this destruction?” asked Watts desperately.

Murdoch was staring fixedly at something on the ground a few feet away.

“Detective Watts, come take a look at this,” his voice sounded strangled. 

Watts quickly picked his way through the debris to stand next to Murdoch. 

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or are these…”

“My word!”

There in the middle of the explosion were what appeared to be _footprints_ imprinted into the paving stones.

Watts knelt down and cautiously touched the treads of the sole that had been _stamped_ into the cracked ground. 

He looked up at Murdoch utterly flabbergasted. 

“Could the force of an explosion have…”

“I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“Detective Watts, Detective Murdoch!” came a voice nearby, and Watts was relieved to see a shaken George Crabtree relatively unharmed, though his uniform was covered in dust. 

“Ah, Constable. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Sirs, we were very fortunate. None of the lads were harmed. At the last count, we have thirty-five injured - some quite seriously so. Those boys and the man at the newsstand...well it doesn't look good. We’re having them transported to the hospital. We’ve begun taking statements from the witnesses.” 

“Did anyone notice anything at all, George?” asked Murdoch, “Particularly in this area - it appears to be the location where the bomb went off.” 

George indicated with a slight nod of his head, “That blond woman with the baby claims that a red-headed man was acting very suspiciously. She said he was talking to himself as he ran right past her, and then, not a moment later, the explosion occurred. She claims he was running away from the explosion _before_ it happened, Sirs! She identified him as one of the injured. Higgins is taking him to the station for questioning.”

“Excellent, George.”

“Sirs have you found any trace of a bomb? This was most unlike any explosion I’ve ever witnessed. There was no light, no fire, just,” he extended his fingers in the air, “BOOM! It’s making me think again on your Electric Field Weapon theory...”

“About that, George…” started Murdoch uncomfortably, “Do you have an imprint making kit with you? We discovered some...some curious markings on the floor in the area where I believe the explosion occurred and we will need to analyze them further.”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll fetch it straight away.”

Watts watched George trudge his way back through the debris, when he noticed a solitary figure sitting on the steps of City Hall.

It was the Barebone boy.

He left Murdoch still examining the debris and began to make his way over to the boy. A field medic station to treat the injured had been set up near where the Cenotaph was under construction. Higgins was standing guard beside a copper-haired man who had blood trickling down his forehead. Watts vaguely remembered the young man had exchanged words with the Barebone woman before the explosion. He resolved to ask him about it back at the station. He walked on.

The boy sat hugging his arms around his chest. His shoulders hunched. His dark clothes and hair were surprisingly devoid of the dust that clung to everyone else present.

“Do you mind if I join you...Mr. Barebone, Credence was it?” The boy was staring out into the destruction numbly. When he didn’t answer, Watts sat down beside him, ignoring the dust that coated the stairs. 

“Are you alright, lad?” 

He remained silent for a while. Watts didn’t push him.

Finally, he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, “Will he be alright?”

“Who?” asked Watts softly. 

“The man at the newsstand...he looked…he looked...” he closed his eyes.

Watts felt for the boy. Witnessing such violence and devastation was never easy, but especially not in one so young. “I don’t know. I’m very sorry.”

The boy looked up at him, a questioning and mistrustful look in his eyes.

Watts continued, “It’s always a shock to witness something like this, especially so young. Life seems particularly cruel and chaotic in the face of such tragedy and suffering.”

Credence averted his gaze, his shoulders stiff.

He fell quiet for a moment. Watts looked about him, then continued, “You know, I was an orphan myself…”

The boy looked up at him again.

“My parents died when I was just a lad. I was raised by my sister for a couple of years, but we were in and out of children’s homes for a while, largely dependent on the charity of strangers, until one day she vanished without a trace. Luckily, my parents’ landlady took me in and raised me with her sons. I was fortunate to have her and her family...to have a home again, but it’s not easy. Not easy at all. It’s a cruel lot, being an orphan.”

He hesitated, “Credence, if things ever get bad, if you ever feel alone, or in danger, do you have someone to turn to?” 

The boy stared firmly at the ground. The only indication he gave that he’d heard Watts was the slightest shrug to his shoulder. 

Watts took out his card, and said very seriously, “If ever you need help, Mr. Barebone, you can find me at Station House Four. If ever you need assistance, they will send for me, any time of day or night.” Watts held it out for him to take. When the boy didn’t move, after a beat, he placed it on the step next to him.

They say in awkward silence for a little while. 

“It looks like your mother has finished giving her statement to my colleagues.”

“She’s not my mother,” he breathed, the words barely audible.

Watts nodded abruptly.

“Does she hurt you, Credence? And the other children?”

The boy didn’t answer, but Watts did not need an answer. He sighed, wishing he could do more. 

“We will be stopping by again later, to speak to Miss Barebone, and hopefully you and your adoptive siblings as well. Take care of yourself, lad. Please don’t forget what I said,” finished Watts softly, standing. He dusted his trousers roughly with his hands, and walked away a short distance to observe. 

Miss Barebone made her way over to the boy and tugged him up by the scruff of his neck. 

“What were you doing, Credence?” she snapped at the boy. 

“Nothing, I promise.” 

“You’re always sneaking around and looking shifty. It looks like you’ll need disciplining when we get home.” She yanked him hard, and dragged him back along the square. 

Watts felt his stomach churn. He hated abuse of any kind, particularly abuse of children. He thought to his adoptive brothers, Hubert and Daniel, and just how much they’d suffered at the hands of others. How he’d tried so hard to be their protectors, and how brutally he failed. There were countless stories like theirs, children forgotten and unloved in the world. Children who carried the weight of the world on their shoulders, who were constantly met with cruelty rather than love.

Watts was a philosopher. He recognized his personality was not one that often drew people in. Part of it was because of the number of people he lost in his life - it was difficult to willfully form a connection to others knowing there was always a chance of losing them. Part of it was his own nature which was always a little _odd._ He himself had been a victim to bullies through his childhood. In his many solitary hours, Llewellyn Watts reflected on his life, saw the natural progression as he floated from loss to loss, tragedy to tragedy. He felt untethered and relatively invisible. Watts did not allow those tragedies or the loneliness to make him cruel or indifferent however. He sought meaning in philosophy, learning, and constantly striving to better himself. He searched for joy in the little things...a good book, trying new delicious foods, savoring a drink of wine, sharing a few words with a stranger, traveling the world when he could save a little money. 

He devoted his life to defending the defenseless and protecting those who could not protect themselves. This need to care for others, like finding the forgotten disappeared women like his sister and protecting people like his brothers, was his driving force. It brought him to the Constabulary where his brilliant-but-unorthodox methodologies brought him up the ladder to detective rather quickly. Though he still struggled to make friends, he’d finally found a sort of family in Station House Four (it was a great deal better than Station House One at any rate).

Perhaps Watts saw something of himself, his brothers, his sister, and any number of unfortunate children in Credence Barebone; any child that was forced to face the cruelty of the world too young. Watts sighed. Part of him hoped that Miss Barebone was guilty of _something_ so she could be locked away, and the children could be free of her. 

With a sigh, he checked the step where the boy had been sitting and was relieved to see that his card was missing. 

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The McGill Street Arch will make an appearance later in the story. I've always loved arch-shaped monuments - They appear all over the world and represent all sorts of things for different cultures, from the standing stones of Stonehenge, to the Arc de Triomphe, the Arch of Constantine, Wellington Arch in London, Monumento a la Revolucion in Mexico, India Gate, to the Gateway Arch in Missouri. When I was a child, I used to think they were gateways to magical worlds, like the wardrobe to Narnia. You just needed to know which stone slabs to press. 
> 
> The McGill Street Arch is actually originally from a church built in 1923. The City of Toronto purchased it when the church was demolished and rebuilt it on the corner of McGill and Yonge Streets as a pedestrian gateway after the intersection was closed. Of course, this is what's written on a plaque for the muggles to explain why the random arch exists. You and I both know the real history of the Arch. As the population grew in Toronto, it became a impractical entrance...both for magicals to disappear from Yonge Street unnoticed as they slipped through the arch, and for the muggle repelling charms to have to continuously be applied to avoid muggles walking headlong into the (then-invisible) stone structure. Much debate occurred as to where the new entrance to "Ward M" should be until it was finally moved one street north, in 1981 to a disused storefront in College Park (next to the Tim Hortons). They considered demolishing the archway, but Wizarding culture preservationists prevailed, and in 1981, thanks to a few well-placed memory charms on certain city officials, it was unveiled as a city monument for all to enjoy. The next time you find yourself in the area, stop by!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations in Station House Four (Part I)

**Chapter 6**

Back at Station House 4, Watts perched himself against Murdoch’s file cabinets, as he observed Murdoch analyzing the imprints they took at the blast site. 

The cast confirmed the impossible fact, that the imprints were of a pair of shoes...small shoes, either a woman’s or a child’s. Watts had seen many strange things in his life but nothing quite like this.

“Anything, Detective?” 

Murdoch heaved a frustrated sigh. 

“Nothing of use. Nothing to exclaim how those imprints came to be… the sheer force of stamping into pavement would probably have shattered the bones in this person’s feet and legs, if they could survive being so close to the blast point.”

Watts’s eyes grew wide, “You don’t think...that the body...er...disintegrated, do you?”

“I honestly don’t know.” 

There was a knock at Murdoch’s door, and Crabtree poked his head into the room.

“Sirs, Henry is booking Mr. Scamander, the person of interest, as we speak. I have confiscated his suitcase.”

“We’ll go and interview this Mr. Scamander. Can you search his case, George? See if there is anything suspicious, anything that could have ignited the bomb.”

“Yes, Sir!” 

* * * * * * *

Newt Scamander was trying very hard not to panic. His forehead throbbed where he’d cut it against his case. He’d lost Nick in a strange city, and with the explosion, he was worried sick about the little imp. He’d regained consciousness to find his case open, and he shuddered to think of the number of creatures that could have escaped in the process. He had momentarily considered apparating out, but he hadn’t wanted to risk it with a head injury. He allowed himself to be helped up by two muggle volunteers and led to the makeshift medic station.

Then the woman started screaming how she’d seen Newt acting suspiciously near the explosion, and before he could say “I,” he was being _escorted_ to a muggle police station. 

Dust-covered policemen and witnesses came and went. Two dark-haired men made their way over to where Newt stood. He looked about awkwardly, wishing he had risked apparition - the risk of splinching was better than whatever _this_ was. He took some calming breaths.

The constable that was booking him seemed well pleased with himself, though perhaps not too bright. 

“State your full name for our records,” he said. 

Newt shifted awkwardly and averted his gaze under the constable’s stare.

“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.”

“Artemis? Isn’t that a woman’s name?” interrupted the constable. 

Newt looked up sharply and glared at him. 

“It’s _my_ name.”

A sigh interrupted whatever the constable was about to say. “ _Thank you_ , Henry, we’ll take it from here. Mr. Scamander, was it? I’m Detective William Murdoch, my colleague Detective Watts and I have some questions for you, if you’d follow me…” 

They began to lead Newt away from the desk, when with a sudden nervous realization, Newt froze. He realized he was missing something _incredibly_ important. 

“Wait, my case! Where’s my case?” Newt began to look about himself, the bubbling panic overwhelming. 

“The booking constables will hold on to it now, they need to make sure you have no weapons or suspicious materials in your person.” 

“They’re not going to open it?!”

“Mr. Scamander, you are being detained due to the suspicious behaviour you exhibited at the scene of the crime. Your possessions are being searched as we speak.”

At Newt’s panicked expression, Murdoch continued, “Do you have something to hide Mr. Scamander?”

“Please, It’s very important...it’s all my work, it’s...it’s everything to me…”

“It will be properly looked after,” reassured Watts, “Everything will be returned to its place.” 

Newt didn’t look convinced. 

A few moments later found Newt sitting in the interrogation room of Station House 4, staring fixedly at his hands as he drummed his fingers on the table top.

Across from him sat Constable Henry Higgins with his notebook and pen at the ready. He looked like Christmas had come early - he never got to participate in interrogations. Luckily for him, George was otherwise occupied. Murdoch took the seat next to Higgins, and Detective Watts remained standing, leaning against the wall near the door.

Watts took a moment to observe the man, Mr. Scamander. He was handsome though dishevelled. His curly copper hair was plastered to his forehead in some places with dried blood. He looked pale despite his freckles and tan...he must have spent some time abroad in the sun, but clearly the blow to his head that caused the bleeding must have left him rattled. 

Scamander was a tall man, but he carried himself hunched as if he were trying to make himself appear smaller. He was probably shy, certainly non-threatening. He seemed to have a hard time making eye contact - rather than looking about the room or trying to read the strangers present, he kept his gaze focused on the tabletop. Watts instantly sympathised. 

His clothes were neat, despite the thick layer of dust, though perhaps a bit out of style. His charcoal trousers were just a hair too short, his argyle socks (one blue, one green) were just visible over his worn leather boots. His bright teal jacket clashed loudly with his goldenrod linen waistcoat and rusty red bow tie, but there was something incredibly charming about the ensemble. He appeared mild-mannered and studious...an academic, if his ink stained fingers were anything to go by, though his hands looked calloused and scarred...so he was also no stranger to manual work.

Watts’s instincts told him that this man before him was no more a deranged bomber than he himself was. 

Murdoch looked at Scamander, and cleared his throat. 

"Mr. Scamander-"

“ _Artemis_ ,” muttered Higgins, with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Scamander looked at Higgins sharply, his cheeks flushed pink. 

Murdoch sighed, wondering if it was too late to swap Henry for George.

“Constable Higgins, need I remind you, you are here to observe and take notes. Another outburst like that, and I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Yes, Sir,” muttered Higgins, properly abashed. 

“Mr. Scamander, what were you doing in front of City Hall today?” asked Murdoch, his tone accusatory. Scamander bristled at his words.

“Walking. Is that a crime?” asked Scamander, still shooting dark looks at Henry.

Murdoch blinked. “Mr. Scamander, I suggest you take this seriously. An eye-witness claims you were fleeing the scene of a crime-"

“I was not _fleeing_ a crime scene, Detective.”

Murdoch blinked, and spoke more slowly, his frustration seeping into his tone.

“You were seen suspiciously _running_ across the square, through a crowd of people, away from a place where, seconds later, _an explosion occurred_.”

“I wasn’t running away, I was chasing _after.._.”

“Mr. Scamander, your attitude is not helping matters. What were you doing at that rally?”

Newt paused, shifting in his seat slightly. He tilted his head and looked at the table about a foot away from Murdoch. When he spoke again, his tone was serious.

“Detective Murdoch, I was just passing through. I had just gone to the bank, on Bay Street, to the currency exchange office. I was on my way to look for accommodations, when I happened upon that...demonstration, purely by chance. I saw the crowd gathered, I heard the woman’s shouts and I went to see what was happening.” 

“So, you only just arrived in Toronto?” asked Watts with his eyebrows raised.

Newt up glanced at Watts. “Yes, just this afternoon.”

“Where were you before?”

“London, well, at least for a bit. Before then, Woodside in Berkshire, near Windsor, but I’ve spent the past three years in the field...in Africa, Asia, Europe and Oceania. I’m a m...zoologist.” 

Murdoch sighed; it appeared they were hitting _another_ dead-end _._ “Do you have anyone that can vouch for what you say?”

“I have my stamped passport, and my steamer and train ticket stubs in my case, which your friend here has confiscated,” Newt said, throwing Higgins another sideways look. “The clerk at the bank might remember me as well - I had a few different types of currency to exchange…”

Murdoch was pretty certain that Mr. Scamander was not directly involved in the bombing, nor the other cases - how could he be if he had indeed just arrived in the city? However, he couldn’t help but feel that Scamander was hiding something. His intuition was screaming at him, and if his years as a detective had taught him anything, it was never to ignore his instincts. 

“Mr. Scamander, I’ll ask you again, no more lies. How were you running away from the explosion moments before it happened?”

“I’m not lying to you, Detective. I do not lie. Everything I’ve said to you so far has been the truth. I found myself at that rally, a boy holding a stack of those leaflets fell into me, knocking my case from my hands…”

“A boy?”

"A pale boy, dressed all in black with a bowl cut…”

“Credence Barebone,” supplied Watts, “That did happen, Detective Murdoch. I was witness to it.”

Newt looked up at Watts carefully. Watts smiled encouragingly before asking “The Barebone woman...the preacher woman at the rally...she called out to you. Did you know her?”

Newt shook his head uncomfortably, “She asked me if I was a ‘seeker of the truth’ I don’t really know what she meant - I never spoke to her before, I’ve never even seen her before today.” 

Watts nodded at him, “Please, continue Mr. Scamander.”

Newt continued, “I helped him...Credence...to his feet, and in that moment of distraction, I lost sight of a...friend. I was trying to find him…Then the explosion happened. Your people arrested me then, and brought me here.”

“What’s your friend’s name?” asked Murdoch, suspiciously. 

Newt rubbed his neck, uncomfortably, “Well, when I say friend - I meant a creature - a pet of sorts - Nick is his name.” 

“What kind of-” began Henry, but Murdoch silenced him with a look.

“And you know nothing about this attack or any of the others?” asked Watts quickly, sensing that Murdoch was rapidly losing his patience. 

“No, like I said…” Newt looked from one detective’s face to the other seriously. “Others? You mean there are more of these? That’s...that’s terrible...”

Watts and Murdoch exchanged looks.   
  


Murdoch pulled the stack of photographs of the three murder victims and the previous attacks of destruction out of his jacket pocket. He slid them across the table to Newt and fanned them out. Newt glanced down and visibly paled. 

He reached out and picked up the pictures and flipped through one at a time. He looked carefully at each one, his expression growing more grim. He traced a finger along the markings.

“You recognize the victims?” asked Murdoch.

“Not the victims, no” said Newt, his voice hollow.

“You recognize the markings,” said Watts. It was not a question. 

Newt blanched and looked visibly disturbed. “I’ve encountered this before. In Sudan.”

He fell quiet. The detectives exchanged looks. Newt was obviously thinking…

“Can I have my case?” he asked finally.

“I’ve already told you…” began Murdoch.

“Please, it’s very important,” replied Newt quickly.

“Why?” asked Murdoch.

“It’ll help me explain if you can see, if I can prove...otherwise it’s too fantastical for Muggles.” 

“Muggles?” asked Watts.

Newt blushed. He was growing more and more uncomfortable. “Well, technically, I’m not supposed to tell you -”

Murdoch was angry, “Mr. Scamander, we are not playing games here.”

“Neither am I, Detective - if I’m right, and I’m positive I’m right, you have a very dangerous and serious situation on your hands. By law, I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but this is a matter of life and death, and that gives me certain loopholes. My case, please!” 

Watts turned to Henry, “Constable, Mr. Scamander’s suitcase if you will.” 

“Right away, Sir,” Henry got up and left the interrogation room.

“Why can’t you tell us certain things?” asked Watts seriously. 

“There are laws in place to protect people from certain knowledge. The Statute of Secrecy - it’s an international agreement - but if I’m right, if you’ve got an Obscurus on your hands…I...” trailed off, clearly talking to himself. He stood and began pacing, then shook his head. “Of course, this must be why Dumbledore had been so insistent about Toronto - ” Murdoch and Watts looked utterly bewildered. Newt ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

Just then, a knock was heard on the door. It opened a crack to reveal Terrance Meyers.

“Murdoch, a word?” he said urgently. Murdoch rolled his eyes. Newt looked on with apprehension. 

“Meyers, I was just in the middle of interviewing Mr. Scamander…”

“Scamander?! The _War Hero?!_ ” asked Meyers incredulously. He pushed his way into the room, followed by his blond assistant, Mr. Graves, and a brown-haired woman. George Crabtree slipped in behind her, carrying Newt’s case. Newt met his eyes quickly with a pleading look, and Crabtree, understanding, deftly hid the case.

Mr. Graves scoffed, “Not THE Scamander. I’d wager. I’ve met Theseus Scamander...this is certainly no Theseus Scamander.” 

Newt stared at Graves sharply. “Theseus is my brother.”

Graves snorted “I would never have guessed. I believe congratulations are in order...your brother’s engagement to Miss Lestrange. Wasn’t she a friend of yours at school?” His tone was surprisingly insulting.

Newt blushed again and averted his gaze, hunching his shoulders, “You seem to know a great deal about me and my family, Mr…”

“It is my business to know things. Meyers, Goldstein, this is _Newton_ Scamander...the lesser impressive Scamander brother...a _zoologist_ of all things. What are you doing in Canada, Scamander? Last I heard, you were chasing butterflies in The Serengeti.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Newt, his eyes narrowing, “but who exactly are you?” 

The brown-haired woman scoffed. Newt recognized her with a jolt. She was the woman from the rally who had spoken with the elderly muggle man before storming off.

Now she snapped at him with judgement in her brown eyes, “You should speak with a more respectful tone, Mr. Scamander, or you’ll find yourself in serious trouble.”

“I’m Percival Graves,” said Graves, “Head Auror of the Province of Ontario, and I’ll ask the questions here, Mr. Scamander.” 

Murdoch’s eyebrows shot up, “Actually-“

“I’ve done nothing wrong, Auror Graves. I can’t see why you would need to interrogate me,” snapped Scamander.

“Mr. Scamander is merely here as a witness to this afternoon’s attack,” said Watts authoritatively, “We don’t suspect him of anything, Mr. Graves. He just arrived in Toronto this afternoon.” 

“Convenient,” said Graves suspiciously, still not taking his eyes from Scamander. He had a predatory look about him. “And what brings you to Toronto?”

“I’m researching. For my book on _creatures_ .”   
  
“What, an extermination guide?” asked the brown-haired woman. 

Newt stared at her sharply, “A scientific analysis of creatures’ behaviors and habitats, chronicling the native fauna of the world - promoting their care and protection...and you are…”

“Auror Tina Goldstein.”

Newt snorted. 

“Something _funny_ , Mr. Scamander?”

“I should have known, typical attitude for an Auror - anytime you encounter something you fear or misunderstand your answer is ‘kill it!’”

Goldstein started forward towards Scamander, her hand flying to her pocket, but Meyers stepped between them.

“Let’s all calm down! If Mr. Scamander indeed arrived today, he’s obviously not involved in any of the _murders_ we are investigating. Mr. Scamander, if you can please explain what you’re doing in Toronto…”

“I’ve already told you, I’m researching-”

“You’re researching animals in Toronto? You must be diligent indeed. Do you plan to include a chapter on squirrels and sparrows, perhaps even _geese_ if we’re lucky,” snapped Graves. Meyers looked at him sharply.

“I’m en route to Saskatchewan,” retorted Newt, “I stopped in Toronto to rest, gather supplies, and plan my trip before I move on... I figured I might as well be around people a bit, catch the sights, maybe take a trip to Niagara Falls, before I spend months in solitude in the wilds of Canada. But again, I fail to see how this is of interest to the _Auror Office._ ”

“What do you mean 'Auror'?” asked Murdoch.

Newt looked up surprised. He turned to look at Graves with raised eyebrows.

“They’re a _specialized_ branch of the Canadian Government, Murdoch.” Interjected Meyers.

“And what _do_ you want with Mr. Scamander here?” Murdoch asked suspiciously. 

“A _zoologist_ , travelling across the world, is a perfect cover story for a member of a _terrorist organisation,_ ” snapped Graves, mockingly.

Newt scoffed, “You think _I’m_ a terrorist? If you know as much as you claim about me and my family, you’d know that’s the most ludicrous theory... I’m a _pacifist_.” 

Graves snapped, “You’re an idealist fool. Exactly the type of person who would follow _Grindelwald_.”

Newt looked up at Graves sharply, as if he’d been slapped. He met Graves’s cold brown eyes with his own blue-green ones that seemed to shine with fire.

“I am _not_ a follower of Grindelwald. My father gave his life fighting _Blood Supremacists._ For Merlin’s sake, _my brother_ is the Head Auror of all Britain, how could you even _think…_ ”

“Simple, Mr. Scamander, your family’s associations and beliefs are clear, but _your record_ has not been so spotless. Expelled from Hogwarts under suspicious circumstances, quietly discharged from military service for insubordination, and then, rather than follow in your _father’s_ and _brother’s_ footsteps in _fighting_ _Blood Supremacists_ , you’ve opted to traipse around the world chasing tree frogs...you wouldn’t be the first to rebel against a family’s views. Who cares about animals anyway? It could easily be a cover that an _Acolyte of the Alliance_ would use.”

Newt was stunned.

“I swear on my life that I’m not a follower of Grindelwald, I’ll take Veritaserum or make an Unbreakable Oath if you wish.”

For a moment, an emotion flashed across Graves’s face - _was it disappointment? It couldn’t have been._

Watts felt the need to interject. “I believe it was Bertrand Russell who said, ‘It is undesirable to believe a proposition when there is no ground whatever for supposing it true,’” said Watts definitively, “Mr. Scamander here is not a terrorist, there has been no evidence to suggest otherwise...to keep pushing would be a waste of time and an injustice...I believe we are done here, gentlemen, ladies.” He opened the door and inclined his head to the hall before meeting Graves’s eyes defiantly. 

Newt stared at Watts in shock. Never before had a total stranger defended him so publicly and vehemently. 

Graves shot Watts a dark, calculating look, then turned to Scamander, “Do not leave Toronto just yet, Mr. Scamander. I have no doubt that we will _talk_ again very soon.” He left the room with a swish of his long jacket. Auror Goldstein shot Newt another dirty look before following on his heels. 

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose “Woodside in Berkshire, near Windsor” for Newt’s childhood home. In part because I figured his Mum sounds like a regal and powerful woman, but primarily because of the legend of Herne the Hunter which is based in the area. Newt was already named for Artemis, the Greek goddess of the wild and of the hunt. I thought it would be cool for him to be in some way associated with the British myth of the wild hunt. 
> 
> When I wrote this chapter, it flowed out so quickly, it was almost like witnessing the scene in front of me and scrambling to keep up as the characters spoke their dialogue. It ended up a mega chapter (it was almost 30 pages of text) so I edited and broke it up into chapters, and moved bits around. It works better from a story point-of-view, but I do feel this is a bit of an awkward stopping-point though, so I'll give you chapter 7 as well.
> 
> WE MADE IT TO THE END OF 2020!! 
> 
> Pat yourself on the back, lovelies, you deserve it!
> 
> I wish you all so much health, happiness, love, peace, joy, and well-being. May 2021 be kind to us all. 
> 
> Sending a big virtual hug!
> 
> Talia


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Queenie is a real Queen and magic is real!
> 
> Confrontations in Station House Four (Part II)

**Chapter 7**

Meyers sighed, “Murdoch, a word in the hall if you will.” 

Murdoch, looking vaguely shell-shocked, followed Meyers into the hall. 

Newt had yet to look away from Watts, who still stood at the door now looking at Meyers’ assistant expectantly.

“Thank you,” said Newt, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

  
Watts turned to Newt and smiled warmly at him, “Don’t mention it. It was the right thing to do, after all.” 

He then cleared his throat and looked back at Meyers’s assistant and then nodded at the door.

She smiled and winked at Watts, before taking a seat at the interrogation table across from Newt. Watts furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Don’t mind me, Detective Watts. I’ll only be a moment.” Watts looked, if possible, even more puzzled as he tried to remember whether or not he'd introduced himself to her.

Queenie's grinned broadened, then she turned to Newt and said, “Queenie Goldstein, Mr. Scamander.” She extended her hand.

Newt shook it awkwardly, “Miss Goldstein, so Auror Goldstein is…”

“My sister.”

“Ah.”

Queenie chuckled to herself. “Don’t judge her too harshly. It hasn’t been an easy life for her. Well, for neither of us, but, particularly for her - it’s hard to be a woman in a man’s world. And the Auror office is certainly a man’s world.” 

“And you’re not an Auror?” 

“Oh goodness no,” she said with a laugh. “I’m Mr. Meyers’s secretary. He’s the liaison between our Government and…” she paused looking at George and Watts, “Theirs.” 

Watts and George exchanged a confused glance.

Scamander nodded, his mind was miles away however. He was quite shaken and quickly played through everything that had transpired in his mind.

“I’ve never seen Graves act like that before,” continued Queenie, “You’re right to be unsettled. He was positively beastly. Not that you mind beasts, eh, Mr. Scamander?” she laughed again. George’s confusion melted from his face at the sound, bright and musical, and one couldn’t help but want to laugh along with her. 

She shot George a smile before turning back to Newt, pulling a card from her purse. “Here’s the name of a hotel we have on contract to house visiting diplomats - if you mention my name they’ll give you a discounted rate. You must be exhausted, Mr. Scamander... you’ve been travelling for nine days...and you haven’t had a decent night's sleep in as much time, you poor dear! ”

Newt looked up at her sharply, “How?…” Then instantly, understanding replaced the confusion on his face, followed by betrayal and indignation. “You’re a Legilimens!” At Watts's and Crabtree’s inquisitive faces, Scamander clarified, “A mind-reader!”

He looked away from Queenie quickly, staring at the ceiling, and began reciting Gamp’s Laws. 

“A _mind-reader_?” asked George incredulously. 

“Yes...oh, don’t worry about that, George Crabtree, most men think much worse than you did when they first meet me…” she grinned sweetly, “You thought I look like an angel, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said...or thought about me. For the record, and I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but I think you’re quite handsome too...” She winked.

George blushed and spluttered. 

Turning to Newt, she said, “You know, eye contact doesn’t matter for natural-born legilimens. Only a learned one needs to maintain eye contact.” 

Newt looked down from the ceiling to stare at her again, eyes narrowing.

Queenie grinned sadly, “I can’t help it, Bunny, I’m sorry. It comes natural to me.”

Turning to Watts she said, “ _You’re_ testing me, Detective Watts…blue, spanakopita, _Sonnet XVIII -_ ‘So long as men can breathe and eyes can see, so long lives this and this gives life to thee.’” 

She winked at his stunned face. “Now you’re shocked to silence. An uncommon occurrence in that brain of yours.” Turning back to Newt, she cried, “Oh please stop with Gamp’s _Laws of Conservation of Matter in Transfiguration_ it’s incredibly hard to have a conversation with that running in the background of your mind.”

Newt looked like he’d been slapped, “ _Please_ stop trying to read my mind. It’s private.” 

“I’ll try,” said Queenie seriously. 

“Is this why Meyers hired you, Miss Goldstein? To...spy on people’s thoughts?” asked Watts.

“Oh, no, Detective Watts! Mr. Meyers has no clue. He thinks I’m just a pretty face. He hopes I can flirt more information out of Mr. Scamander here,” she shot Newt a small smile, “His heart is not easily swayed by a _pretty_ face however...”

Newt blushed.

“You’re better off, you know? I know people don’t like to hear that, but she was a taker. You need a nurturer. Someone kind, and giving, like yourself.”

At Newt’s utterly betrayed expression, she continued...

“Sorry, Bunny. I can’t help it. The easiest thoughts to read are the wounds we carry in our hearts.”

She glanced at Watts, raised an eyebrow, then looked at Newt before turning back to Watts, positively beaming. “Interesting.” She said nothing further, just smiled to herself, before continuing on with her previous train of thought.

“No, Detective Watts, to further answer your question, like so many others, Mr. Meyers has a tendency to underestimate and overlook those he perceives as lesser or weaker. You’d know all about that of course, Mr. Scamander. How many times have you been overlooked because you’re not a big old brutish torpedo? People might not understand the work you do, but I’m glad someone out there cares.”

She straightened her flawlessly neat skirt absently, then stood.

“Welcome to Toronto, Mr. Scamander. I hope you enjoy your stay. Don’t judge our city too harshly on your first experiences here. I hope the rest of your time is significantly better. Incidentally, if you plan to show them your case - I won’t tell if you don’t,” she winked again.

He looked at her again in surprise. Miss Goldstein was very gifted in pulling the rug out from under one’s feet. 

“Good luck in finding your friend, I hope he’s safe and sound,” she extended her hand and shook Newt’s again, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Scamander. Don’t be a stranger. Detective Watts,” she said turning to Watts, “You have a fascinating mind.” She shook his hand. Watts looked at her with furrowed brows, “So do you, Miss Goldstein, full of surprises!” 

Queenie laughed. Turning to George she blushed, “Constable Crabtree, I do hope we meet again.” George blushed as well, a crooked smile crossed his face, “I think I would like that, Miss Goldstein.” 

“Queenie, please, Constable,” she said, taking his hand. “Queenie,” said George wistfully. He bowed, “Please, call me George.” 

Queenie beamed. “I’ll owl you, George.” She slipped out of the interrogation room just as Murdoch returned, followed by Dr. Ogden.

Watts was looking at George with his head cocked to the side, “Constable, did you just _bow_ at her?” 

“I think I just did, Sir.” 

George blinked, turning to Scamander, he asked, “What does she mean she’ll _owl me_?” 

Scamander had a small sympathetic smile on his face, “You’ll find out soon enough, Constable, I wager.”

“If we’re quite finished…” said Murdoch, looking from one to the other, utterly confused.

“What was all that about?” asked Watts, nodding after Meyers and Miss Goldstein.

“Meyers and Graves wanted to know if we had any updates on the case, and he asked how we knew to be at the demonstration at City Hall - I told them the identity of the last victim, and mentioned his connection with the New Salem Society. Graves seemed peculiarly intrigued...he left abruptly. Mr. Meyers was just waiting for Miss Goldstein.”

Murdoch turned towards Dr. Ogden, “Julia, I’d like you to meet Mr. Newt Scamander, Mr. Scamander, my wife, Dr. Julia Ogden.” 

Watts shot Murdoch an inquisitive look. Murdoch shook his head. Watts had a suspicion that Dr. Ogden’s presence had been requested not only to discuss the markings on the victims, but also for a psychological evaluation. Watts wondered if Murdoch would still think Mr. Scamander insane if he’d witnessed the exchange with Miss Goldstein.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Scamander,” said Julia as she shook his hand warmly.  
  
“Likewise, Dr. Ogden.”

“Apart from being a physician and surgeon, Dr. Ogden is also an accomplished psychoanalyst as well as being our coroner. She’s conducted the post-mortems on the victims in the photographs. You said you had information for us, Mr. Scamander.”

Scamander looked at Murdoch carefully.

“You said you’ve encountered markings like these in the past,” said Murdoch indicating the photographs with his hands.

“Yes, in Sudan,” he paused looking at the four gathered people carefully, “In telling you and showing you what I’m about to reveal, I’ll be breaking about a hundred international secrecy laws. In life-or-death situations, there are certain loopholes...but, I need your word, all of you, that you will not speak of this to anyone.”  
  
“Mr. Scamander - I can’t make that promise, this is a murder investigation, if the information you are about to share helps us to capture the guilty party, we will need the evidence to convict them - I can try to keep your name out of it but…”

“Detective, it’s not just about me, it’s for your own protection as well.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Scamander?”

“Oh, William,” admonished Dr. Ogden, “Mr. Scamander, would it be possible for us to promise that we will keep quiet about this within reason - if you have permission to speak of these things within the context of a life-or-death situation, surely the same protections extend to us? And a murder case is certainly a life-or-death situation.” 

“It’s complicated,” he said, frustrated. 

“How about we confer with you before talking about it with others?” asked Watts.

Newt looked at him carefully, then sighed. “I suppose that’s as good as I can expect for now.” He picked up the photographs on the table, looking at them carefully, a dark expression on his face, “How long have these attacks been happening? Please, tell me everything,” he said, turning to look at them again.

“Mr. Scamander, you’re here helping _us_ with _our_ investigation” said Murdoch. 

“Please, I may very well be the only person who can help you here - I’ve certainly studied more about Obscurials than most.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Murdoch, “What’s an Obscurial?”

Newt took a breath, looking at them carefully. Watts was shocked by the intensity of Scamander’s gaze. 

“An _Obscurus_ is a parasitic entity. The _Obscurial_ is the unwitting host.”

“Mr. Scamander, I found no trace of a parasite in the victims,” said Dr. Ogden definitively.

“Of course, Doctor, I’m not questioning your results or methodology - The victims aren’t Obscurials, they’re victims _of_ the Obscurus,” Newt began to walk nervously about the room.

“What you have to understand is that the world is infinitely more complicated and fantastical than you previously realised.” He paused looking at them carefully. “Some people are born with certain _abilities_...a core of energy that allows us to affect the world around us - we call it magic.”

George leaned forward excitedly. Watts stared unblinkingly at Mr. Scamander’s face. Julia looked puzzled but intrigued. 

“ _Magic_?!” asked Murdoch incredulously. His eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline.

Newt now staring somewhere west-south-west of Murdoch’s eyes nodded. “Magic,” Newt confirmed. 

Murdoch let out a strangled laugh.

“Magic?” 

Newt nodded again.

Murdoch scoffed and turned to Watts, “We are wasting our time with this abso-”

“You think I’m mad,” said Newt interrupting, “I’m not mad, Detective.” He met Murdoch’s eyes carefully. 

“Some people are born with the ability to use magic - for most of us, we welcome our abilities and we learn to use them properly, but when a child rejects his or her magical core, usually as a result of unspeakable abuse or trauma, the core begins to separate from the child. An Obscurus - the parasitic force - begins to feed on the child’s core, growing more powerful by the day. When it gets powerful enough, it lashes out at its surroundings, at people, leaving these markings-” he gestured at the images, “they’ve very distinct - there’s nothing else that can cause them. The parasite feeds on the child, the Obscurial, until it becomes too much - it consumes the child, killing the child and destroying itself in the process. Obscurials rarely make it to the age of twelve.”

He fidgeted with the roller-shade on the interrogation room window for a bit, not quite meeting their gaze.

  
“The Obscurus I encountered in Sudan, it was feeding on a young girl...I was camping alone in the wild, observing a colony of _Streelers_ \- er, giant multicolored snails-"

Murdoch scoffed, but Newt continued undeterred.

"Some boys from a nearby village came to find me. Unfamiliar with magic, they didn’t understand when I tried to explain that I was a zoologist, not a doctor. They told me of a young girl who had fallen victim to a horrific illness, a _demon_ , they called it. They implored me for help. I couldn’t say no. She had been locked away in isolation, her family was afraid of her. When I found her, I...she…”

His voice cracked. 

“She was so afraid, and hurt, and all alone, and I made it there far, far too late to save her…” A pained look crossed Newt’s face. He closed his eyes and looked down, collecting himself.

“If these attacks have started, the Obscurus is getting too powerful - it’s already lashing out - the child will die if we don’t find it.” 

“Of all the ridiculous-” snapped Murdoch angrily.

Just then a small stick-like figure popped it’s head out of Newt’s breast pocket. It shook a tiny fist at Newt, then at Murdoch, Watts, Crabtree and Julia in turn, making a high-pitched clicking chattering noise that was undeniably a scolding. Then it huffed and slipped back into his pocket.

“What on _Earth_ was that?” asked Murdoch.

Newt’s gaze had dropped down again, and he spoke to his pocket. “That’s Pickett - he’s a bowtruckle. He’s recovering from a nasty head cold- he got sick on the ship over. They’re not used to traveling by sea - or traveling at all for that matter. I’ve been keeping him in my pocket...body heat, you know? We must have disturbed his rest.” Newt absently rubbed his pocket with the knuckle of his pointer finger, with a small affectionate smile, “Sorry, Pickett.” 

A responding exasperated-yet-affectionate clatter came from his pocket. 

“ _Zoologist_ , you said?” asked Watts with interest.  
  
“Technically, a _Magizoologist_ ,” responded Newt, “I specialize in magical creatures. 

Murdoch made a strangled noise. 

“Magical-” whispered George with a smile forming on his face.

“What is a bowtruckle?” asked Watts.

“They’re tree guardians. Native to forests around the world. I found Pickett and his family in The Black Forest. There was a forest fire - their tree had been almost completely destroyed, and bowtruckles can’t live if their tree dies. So I salvaged what I could, I healed the tree and nursed the bowtruckles back to health. I couldn’t leave them to die.” 

Watts and Julia were totally captivated. George looked ecstatic. 

Murdoch was having a hard time wrapping his head around Scamander’s words. He tried opening his mouth to speak, only to close it again at a total loss. 

“You said that you have proof for us?” asked Murdoch finally.

“Yes, I…my case,” he said, turning to George. 

“Oh, yes, I have that right here, Sir,” replied George. He pulled the case out from under the table. 

“George, what happened to Henry? I’d sent him to fetch Mr. Scamander’s suitcase,” asked Watts.

“Ah, about that, Sirs, Henry dropped the case, it cracked open. We put everything back in,” he said quickly at Scamander’s worried expression, “Nothing appears damaged! But he was too embarrassed to come back with it.” At Newt’s persistent worried face, George quickly said, “Please don’t shoot the messenger, Sir. I’m sorry, Henry is notoriously clumsy…” 

“It was open?” asked Newt nervously. 

“Only a bit - and we put everything back.” Newt’s face paled further as he looked carefully at the lock.“Do you mind if I check?”

“Go right ahead, Sir.” 

Newt flipped the silver catch, put the case down on the interrogation table. “Thank you, by the way, Constable.”

“Thank you? What for, Sir?” 

“Your quick thinking - I’d rather the Aurors not get their hands on my case - it’s rather sensitive.” 

“Are you hiding things from the authorities, Mr. Scamander?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking, Constable.”

At George’s raised eyebrows, he continued, “I’m no _legilimens_ , but with a father and brother in law enforcement, I know a look of suspicion when I see one.” A ghost of a crooked smile crossed Scamander’s face.

Newt opened the case carefully, then he climbed up on the chair. Watts, Murdoch, Julia and Crabtree looked on incredulously. 

“Sir?” Asked Crabtree.

“What are you-” started Murdoch.

“Sir?!” Repeated Crabtree nervously, then froze as he watched Scamander step _into_ his case, his legs disappearing to the knee as he _climbed down_ into the suitcase.

Newt paused his face and shoulders just visible from the case. Leaning against the side of the case with his elbow, he rested his face in his hand. Addressing the four of them, he shot a wry smile and said, “You _can_ join me if you’d like - you’ll certainly have your proof, Detectives.” 

Newt smiled mysteriously. Then without another word he disappeared into his case. George, Watts, Dr. Ogden and Murdoch exchanged flabbergasted looks. Watts blinked, then shrugged. He locked the door to the interrogation room, and pulled down the shade on the window, then climbed up on the table to follow Newt down into the case, George on his heels. Julia shot Murdoch an exhilarated smile as she made her way down after George, Murdoch took up the rear.

“Brings a new meaning to the phrase _in the middle of a case,”_ mused Watts. George and Julia laughed, Murdoch let out a strangled noise.

“Mind your heads,” Newt said as they made it to the bottom of the ladder. He took off his dusty teal jacket, laying it carefully on the back of a chair. Pickett crawled onto his outstretched hand and up his arm where he perched happily on Newt’s shoulder. 

They stared in awe. They found themselves in a sunny workspace, surrounded by organized chaos. The desks were covered in stacks of parchment, drawings of fantastical creatures and diagrams of feathers, scales, and claws were pinned to the walls. Wooden shelves filled with jars and vials containing liquids and powders of various colors - all painstakingly labelled with the same spindly writing. One whole wall facing a sunny window (‘ _A window! In a suitcase! My word!’_ thought George) was covered in an intricate shelving system that held an assortment of plants - the likes of which they’d never seen before. Scamander rolled up his sleeves, he grabbed a stack of papers as he led them further into his workspace. 

They passed a cot tucked carefully under a worktable and a chest of drawers, utterly bewildered. 

Some of Newt’s awkwardness was beginning to melt away, he looked significantly calmer and more present in his space. He began to lay the papers out on an empty section of the workbench.

“Here I have some images of the marking left by the obscurus’s attacks in Sudan,” he handed the papers to Dr. Ogden, “As you can see, the markings are identical.”

“You’re exactly right,” said Dr. Ogden, looking sadly at the images of the victims, and tracing the markings on their bodies, before passing them to the others to see.

“What does an obscurus look like?” asked Watts curiously.

Newt replied, “It’s like a small storm cloud, dark and churning with violent energy...I could show you if you’d like.” 

“How could you show us?” asked George. 

Newt stopped abruptly. “Ah, um...well, when the obscurus grows too powerful, it kills both itself and the child it’s feeding on. I was able to capture and freeze the obscurus I encountered in Sudan before it dissipated. My intention was to study it in the hope that should I ever encounter another, I would be able to save the child before he or she is entirely consumed.”

“Were you successful?” asked Dr. Ogden.

“Obscurials are rare in the magical world, Doctor...I haven’t yet tested out my theories, but I have ideas that I think are likely to work,” he tapped a small journal in his left hand before slipping it into his pocket, when he noticed a door to his left which was slightly ajar. 

“Oh _bugger_ ,” cursed Newt under his breath. He paused at the door and looked at them, brows furrowed, a concerned expression gracing his boyish face.

“Erm. This is a little bit not good. I think the crash my case took earlier may have dislodged some of the _inhabitants…_ ” 

George muttered “ _Inhabitants…?_ ”

“I’ve built a sort of animal sanctuary, through this door - It’s where I heal and rehabilitate injured creatures. _Technically_ we’re not supposed to use magic to alter objects that can easily fall into non-magical people’s hands.”

“Like building a workspace and sanctuary in a suitcase,” suggested Watts, his tone teasing. 

Newt nodded with an awkward shrug, “Magical creatures - well, we don’t really have laws that protect them. The things I’ve seen on my travels; the abuse and suffering that these poor creatures undergo at the hands of uncaring humans. The magical community is not very considerate or conscientious when it comes to creatures. Or _people_ for that matter. I’m hoping that my work will change people’s minds - educate them about the importance of caring for and respecting the natural world. Until the general populace’s opinions change, however, I’ve taken it on myself to care for these creatures. While I travel, studying creatures in their natural habitats, whenever I come across one that’s fallen victim to smugglers or poachers or abattoirs, I _liberate_ them-”  
  
“Liberate?” asked George.

“Liberate, rehabilitate, and return them to the wild when they’re ready. It’s not explicitly _illegal_ , but…”

“You’d rather avoid scrutiny and awareness,” finished Watts. 

“Well, yes. Part of the reason I’d rather you didn’t speak of this to anyone, but apart from that, you are what we call ‘muggles,’ non-magic folk. You’re not supposed to know about the existence of magic - if you speak of this to anyone - well, most people would think you mad, but if word got back to _my people_ , they’d have you obliviated…”

" _Obliviated_ , that doesn’t sound good!” said George quickly. 

“They’d erase your memories,” said Newt softly. “Barbaric, really - all we really have in this world is our own minds.” He blinked and looked at the floor. 

“So please, don’t mention any of this to anyone...do I have your word?” He glanced up at them awkwardly, not quite meeting their eyes. 

The four of them nodded. Newt nodded as well, took a breath and opened the door. 

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for tonight my friends. I'll see you in the new year!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which William Murdoch has a wee bit of an existential crisis.

**Chapter 8**

  
If they had been in awe of the workspace in Mr. Scamander’s case - there were no words to describe the wonder that filled them at the sight of his _menagerie_ . As they passed through the door, they noticed the _shed_ that housed Mr. Scamander’s fantastical workshop was dwarfed by the enormity of the space they now entered.

Scamander had entire _worlds_ inside his suitcase. Floating bubbles of _oceans_ floated over their heads. Expanses of prairies and deserts, mountain peaks, caverns and rocky outcrops, swaths of forests, deciduous, boreal, evergreen, bamboo and tropical, spread every which way. In the distance they could see a frozen tundra, and a large expanse of water.

“Good _Lord_ ,” said Murdoch. 

“This is absolutely incredible!” said Julia in wonder.

Then there were the _creatures_ themselves that filled the habitats. They all stopped what they were doing at Scamander’s arrival. They greeted him warmly as he approached. Newt spoke to the creatures as he passed, greeting each by name. 

It wasn’t initially obvious, but Watts realised about halfway into the sanctuary that Scamander was taking inventory. 

He kept a running commentary as they walked through the space introducing them to the multitude of creatures that inhabited his case. 

First, Newt showed them the bowtruckle habitat. A magnificent tree stood in the middle of a dappled grassy clearing. It was crawling with bowtruckles. Watts drew closer to the tree to get a better view and chuckled when one of the bowtruckles blew a raspberry at him. Newt tried to encourage his stowaway to rejoin his family in the tree. Pickett clutched at Newt’s hand chattering desperately. He was determined to stay. Newt chucked indulgently and relented, letting Pickett crawl back up to his shoulder, where he perched comfortably. “This is exactly why they accuse me of favouritism, you know.” He smiled at his companions and led them further on into the space.

“These here are _Diricawls_ ,” said Newt, counting them carefully as they reached a rocky habitat. “You might know them as the Dodo.”

“Aren’t they extinct?” asked Julia excitedly. 

“Not at all,” he said, as the two adult creatures covered in resplendent blue and pink feathers, and eight fluffy yellow chicks instantly surrounded him, nuzzling his torso with their dull beaks. “They’re native to Mauritius. A flightless bird, the Diricawl, but it’s one of the few magical creatures that can apparate - that is they disappear from one place and reappear in another instantly - like phoenixes and house elves...and wizards.” They looked at him dumbfounded. 

Scamander smiled. He grabbed hold of a bucket of feed floating near his head. “Watch,” he said nodding at the chicks, then flung some of the feed several feet away. The birds took off clumsily trotting towards the small pile of seeds, then one by one they disappeared and reappeared directly on top of it, happily eating their fill. 

George’s grin appeared permanently plastered to his face. “AMAZING, Utterly AMAZING!” 

Newt smiled, “You think so?”

“I think few would think otherwise,” said Watts seriously. 

“You’d be surprised,” said Newt softly, “Most of my world thinks I’m utterly mad for devoting my life to studying creatures.”

“But they’re fascinating,” said George, “How could anyone think otherwise?”

Newt shrugged. “You witnessed the reactions of Aurors Goldstein & Graves…” he glanced over to Murdoch.

“Detective Murdoch, are you alright back there?” asked Scamander. One of the chicks had apparated itself atop the detective’s hat. Murdoch looked up carefully, as the chick craned its neck over the rim of Murdoch’s hat to look into his eyes.

George laughed, “Sir, I think he likes you!”

Julia giggled, “Oh William! I wish I could take a photograph of this!”

“The Dodo is _extinct…_ ” said Murdoch, his voice small.

“Ah, yes, well, primitive man thought they’d hunted them into extinction - in reality they’re quite smart, they just apperated every time they saw a hunter approaching,” said Scamander as he walked over and carefully picked the Dirclaw chick off the detective’s hat. Newt placed him down on the ground, and the chick waddled off to join his siblings by the feed.

They pressed on, passing Giant Dung Beetles, an Erumpent, Graphorns, Murtlaps and Billywigs. Floating over their heads in little glass-like balls, were Glow Worms that flashed different colours. 

George was in heaven. Seriously. He’d spent a lifetime being ridiculed for believing in fantastic beasts and impossible things, and now here he was in a world inside a suitcase, encountering creatures beyond his wildest imagination. They paused at the Runespoor’s habitat, and George looked on in wonder at the three-headed snake native to Burkina Faso. 

“I found them in Italy of all places! I stumbled upon a Runespoor egg mill - terrible place, the Runespoors were kept in these tiny cages and forced to lay eggs indefinitely. Runespoor eggs are incredibly valuable in potion making. They’re used to produce potions that stimulate mental agility. They're incredibly popular on the black market.”

“Why does it have a cone on its right head?” 

“Ah, that...right...I call it the “time out” cone…Each head of the Runespoor has a different identity, you see...entirely different personalities, really. The left head is the planner - it decides what to do and where to go. The middle head is the rational one - the visionary - the dreamer. Sometimes they sit in place for days lost in the thoughts and fantasies of the middle head. The _right head_ on the other hand is hot-headed - it’s the aggressive one, the critic. Its fangs are incredibly venomous, and it constantly criticizes the other two heads. I’ve seen some cases in which the middle and left head gang up on the right head and bite it off because it’s just that annoying. He’s in the time-out cone right now, as they were fighting earlier. He instigated it. I knew it would be quite a while before I could check on them, so I figured it’d be best for them to stay as separate as possible.”

“Incredible,” said George with a laugh. 

“How difficult it must be, to have three brains, three personalities! How can it ever get anything done?” asked Julia.

“Oh, they’re always in conflict,” said Newt with a smile, “I sometimes can barely manage with one brain, imagine three?” 

Julia laughed. 

She was happy that she had decided to hand-deliver her finished post-mortem report to William. She thought she could steal a few moments alone with him (she always enjoyed seeing him during the day) but was pleasantly surprised when he’d asked her to join him in the interrogation room.

“I think he might not be entirely sane,” William had said uncertainly. 

Julia had expected to find a raving madman, or a delusional soul like David Kingsley who’d believed he was the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes. Instead, she’d found in Mr. Scamander a fellow student of biology and medicine. Despite his awkwardness, he had a thirst for adventure and discovery that rivaled that of William. Despite the fantastical quality of everything she encountered in Scamander’s curious case, her practiced eye saw the wounds and scars the animals bore, she saw the caring and careful way that the creatures had been treated, the bandages lovingly applied, the meticulous notes diligently left outside each habitat documenting the creatures’ healing process and their care needs. Julia was a doctor, and as such, she read between the lines of Scamander’s stories to recognize the horrors he witnessed and the injustices he wanted to right so passionately. A fellow activist. His case was a hospital of sorts, and Scamander was a caretaker and doctor in his own right. She saw in him a kindred spirit. _Besides_ , she thought as she glanced at Watts who was eagerly engaged in a discussion with Scamander about cognition, identity, and the existence of the soul, and William who was staring dumbfounded, she was no stranger to awkward geniuses.

She was fascinated by Scamander’s creatures, and his world of magic. It defied everything she knew and believed, and it excited her! She longed to read his research, to pick his brain to understand this new world, the biological and chemical differences between the magical and the mundane. The implications of a creature with three separate nervous systems and identities! She glanced up at her husband frequently as they explored. She could tell he was struggling with this revelation. _Poor William_.

* * * * * * *

William Murdoch was indeed out of his depth. He was a brilliant man, a visionary, an inventor, a genius in his own right. He was a rational man, and that’s where his difficulty lay - until encountering Mr. Scamander, his world was very _rational_. 

Now he was presented with a new reality that blew apart his very understanding of life. How could one expect the world to function in any understandable way - how could one be certain about anything - the laws of physics for example, when one could generate levitating oceans in a suitcase? All of his methodologies of crime investigation - fingermarks! How could fingermarks be relied on if people could just _magic_ them onto objects - could they be magicked onto objects? Good _Lord_ , what did this mean for truth and reality if fiction could be real?! 

He felt a panic bubble up in his chest. It must have shown on his face, because Watts glanced at him sympathetically and patted him on the shoulder in a comforting gesture. 

“Detective Murdoch,” he said gently, “Plato once said, ‘That man is wisest who, like Socrates, realizes that his wisdom is worthless.’ Just go with it.”

Murdoch shook his head uncomfortably, “But this all defies the very laws of science!” 

“Well, every age has a new scientific discovery that calls into question everything that came before. Perhaps we are on the cusp of this right now.”

Murdoch cried, “But it’s completely irrational!”

Scamander looked up from where he had been speaking with Crabtree and Dr. Ogden. 

“Well, there is some reason to magic - we do have the equivalence of scientific laws. Magic follows certain rules, as fantastical as it might seem, there are certainly limitations to what it can do...I’m sorry, Detective. This is one of the reasons why we’re meant to keep our world secret - it’s _overwhelming_ for sure.”

Julia put a comforting hand on Murdoch’s shoulder, and she smiled at Scamander. 

“It’s just impossible,” Murdoch said hollowly.

“Well, nothing is impossible - not really. ‘Whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities’,” quoted Watts thoughtfully. 

“Bertrand Russell again,” said Newt with a small smile. 

Watts glanced up quickly in shock, meeting Newt’s eyes, “You’ve read _The Problems of Philosophy_?”

Newt shrugged, abashed, “I do a lot of reading. I’ve spent three years in the field, entirely alone, save for the creatures and my own thoughts. I read quite a bit...Muggle and Magical works. Non-fiction and fiction - I just finished F. Scott Fitzgerald’s _This Side of Paradise..._ I’m hoping to find a copy of _The Great Gatsby_ this side of the Atlantic- it won’t be published in England until next year...but yes, I read Russell earlier this year. It’s fascinating stuff...”

... _and he reads philosophy._ Watts felt a spark of _something_ in his chest. Something warm and cozy, like liquid sunshine, and if he was perfectly honest with himself (and he always was) he realised that he rather liked Mr. Scamander, and that could very well spell trouble for him if he didn’t quickly _stomp down those feelings_.

  
Watts didn’t often find himself feeling _something_ for people. Not the way the other lads did - perpetually chasing skirts. Watts understood romance intellectually. He’d experienced attraction before, but it was never an all-consuming force for him. There wasn’t a particular appearance that struck his fancy - though he could appreciate aesthetics as much as the next person - aesthetics were another branch of philosophy after all. Dr. Ogden, for example, was objectively beautiful with her classic Romanesque bone structure and excellent physiognomic symmetry. But was he _attracted_ to her? No. Not romantically anyway. He recognized that he had a type - a person...(female or male, it didn’t really seem to matter, as he found himself feeling _something_ for some of both in his life)...a person who was _passionate_ about something, with strong beliefs and morals, yet also open-minded, and well-learned. Someone who always was fully and unapologetically _themselves._ Someone he could talk to - for Watts, passion and _love_ were largely intellectual. 

Though he had to admit to himself that Mr. Scamander was rather adorable, with his tousled copper locks, his open and kind face, his grin which was like a warm summer breeze, and the way his sea-blue eyes lit up when he spoke about something he was passionate about. He felt _something_ alright. The last _something_ he’d felt was for Fiona Faust, the female world-travelling cyclist. She’d been passionate about seeing the world, being herself and living her dreams, and he’d enjoyed the hours they’d spent conversing as he “searched” for her stolen bicycle. He enjoyed her forwardness and companionship, and the few kisses they’d shared. He hadn’t needed to squash down those feelings...it was normal after all for a man to be attracted to a woman. 

That had been short-lived, however...she continued on her journey, he continued on with his life, as he suspected, his feelings faded and dissipated within a few days of her departure...indeed, being forced to face the circumstances of the Agnes Swift case - and facing the possibility of his own mortality - certainly drew all romantic notions from his mind.

Now, here he was, faced with _something_ again, and these feelings were certainly bestowed on a most worthy person. Newt Scamander was well-travelled, passionate about his work and animals...he was caring and advocated for those who had no voice, he was brilliant, philosophical, and quirky, refreshingly unique, and handsome and - _oh dear, Llewellyn Wattenburg, you are indeed in trouble._

The warmth in Watts’s chest was suddenly replaced with a feeling of cold dread - what if Mr. Scamander found out about his thoughts and feelings? And in his magical world of spells, potions and mind-readers it was quite possible. He felt the shame rise up in his chest. After being abandoned by his sister and a lifetime of being cast aside as an oddball, the fear of rejection was ever-present in his mind. Compounded with knowing the general hatred and disgust that any homosexual sentiment was met with in this day and age - it would have been so much easier to live in Ancient Greece, where love was love, and things were so much less _complicated_. 

With great effort, Watts pulled himself out of his existential crisis, back to Detective Murdoch who appeared to still be having his own existential crisis, and Scamander’s concerned expression as he tried to comfort Detective Murdoch.

Eventually they moved on, pausing before a nest of occamy hatchlings, and Watts tried unsuccessfully to not think about how _cute_ Scamander looked with furrowed brow as he attempted to count the writhing baby winged serpents. 

Scamander led the way further into the case, and a silence fell over them as they reached the last enclosure. They found themselves standing before a stretch of frozen Tundra. The wind howled and spirals of icy snowflakes danced. It was a harsh and cold place. In the distance, they could see what appeared to be a small smoky thundercloud floating in a clear bubble. Lightning seemed to have been frozen mid-strike. The smoky tendrils of the cloud hung limply in the air.

“Is that…” started Julia

Newt nodded, “The obscurus.” 

“It appears that our drunken witness was correct, George,” said Watts weakly. 

“Smoke monster,” said George, feeling vindicated.

Murdoch shook his head. “You really think this...entity...is what is behind these killings in Toronto?” 

George glanced up at Murdoch, “Sir, it’s the only thing for which everything fits!”

“How does the obscurus kill its victims?” asked Watts quickly, looking to cut off whatever debate was inevitably going to form between Murdoch and Crabtree. 

Newt met Watts’s eyes, and Watts felt his heart skip a beat. 

“No one really knows - the obscurus is fear, pain, and self-hatred made manifest. It lives inside the obscurial consuming and corrupting the child’s magic, and it lashes out of the child, wielding the magic with deadly force. The markings are scars caused by the force of raw magic in the obscurus’s tendrils.”

“So the child is always present at the scene of the killing?” 

“To my knowledge, yes. The obscurus first tends to lash out at the child’s immediate abusers - parents, relatives, neighbors - whoever caused the child to hate and repress that aspect of himself or herself. The child is not consciously trying to hurt anyone however, and witnessing the violence of the attacks and the raw destructive power of the obscurus only makes the child fear and hate it more, which in turn feeds the obscurus, making it more powerful. That causes it to lash out more - it is a vicious cycle. If there are no people present, the obscurus lashes out at its surroundings - buildings, trees, rocks, whatever happens to be in its path.”

“So to find the obscurial, we need to find a child that connects the victims and places where the previous attacks have happened,” said Julia.

Newt nodded, “Precisely, Doctor.”

“If that is indeed the case, I very much think the key is at the New Salem Society - most of their mission work involved children,” said Watts thoughtfully.

“And what should we do once we do find the child?” asked George.

Newt fiddled with his collar nervously in a gesture that reminded George of Watts. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to save him or her,” said Newt softly, “there are some spells that I think could work to tame the obscurus for a time. The cycle of fear and hatred needs to be stopped, however. I think that can only be done through a slow healing process with the child.” 

Newt was staring at the obscurus’s bubble as it floated through the space, his expression dark and unreadable. 

“Shall we press on?” he said finally. They retraced their steps back through the animals’ enclosures, the group considerably quieter and more pensive on their return journey.

Finally as they were reaching Newt’s work-shed, he spoke.

“It would appear that few of my creatures may have gotten loose in today’s confusion. My niffler, Nick, as well as Billie and Wiggles, the Billywigs; Leslie, the Leucrotta, and possibly Dougal, my Demiguise. I can’t be certain about Dougal - he can turn invisible, but I assumed that by now he would have made his presence known if he were here.” 

“What can we do?” Asked George.

Newt looked troubled. “I have to find them,” he said softly, “See, they’re currently in alien terrain, surrounded by millions of the most vicious creatures on the planet...” 

George drew closer to Newt nervously, “Vicious creatures…”

Newt looked at George with an eyebrow raised, “Humans.” 

George blinked. Newt began to pace.

“No other creature on Earth is cruel for cruelty’s sake - A carnivore will kill and eat another creature for food, a mother will kill to protect her young, but some humans enjoy inflicting pain simply because they can, or because they’re bored or frustrated, or because they just don’t like you.”

“You seem to have a poor opinion of the human race,” said Watts. 

“Obviously not all humans,” said Newt. He met Watts’s eyes and held his gaze for a moment before blinking and looking away, “but it’s not the kind ones I’m worried about…” 

“You’ll have to retrieve your creatures, Mr. Scamander. We cannot have magical beasts roaming the streets of Toronto,” said Murdoch weakly.  
  
“How does one catch an invisible creature, Mr. Scamander?” asked Julia.

Newt shrugged, “With a lot of luck and patience, and a little bit of unpredictability, Dr. Ogden. Ideally I would like to return to the scene of the explosion, cast some tracking charms to see if I can find them. I would also like to get a look around to see if I can gather any information on the obscurus.” 

Murdoch still looked lost, bless him, but he shook himself and said, “Detective Watts, George, will you assist Mr. Scamander? Julia, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to the New Salem Society - I think I could use your skills and knowledge in interviewing Miss. Barebone.” 

“Of course William,” she replied.

They agreed to meet back at the station in one hour, and then climbed up the ladder, out of Newt’s case and back into the interrogation room, before going their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bothered me that the names of some of Newt’s creatures were not shared. Like the Niffler! 
> 
> And that the Billywiggs seem to have been left behind in NY. In the director's commentary on the DVD, we're informed that the Billywiggs get eaten by seagulls of all things! Newt would never do that. 
> 
> Someone as caring and loving towards creatures as Newt Scamander would certainly name each and every creature, and concern himself with their wellbeing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Meyers is typical Meyers, Graves meets Credence, The Inspector discovers magic, and George offers advice to Newt.

**Chapter 9**

In the smaller shabby upstairs bedroom at the New Salem Society, Credence stood in the corner, fiercely willing his silent tears to stop falling. Ma had commanded him to stand in the corner until bedtime - no supper for him again tonight.

He rested his forehead against the cool wall, hoping it would soothe the pounding headache he felt since the attack. His back was raw from the belting he received from Ma Barebone for...whatever transgression he had committed in her eyes. His face burned in anger and humiliation - no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, she would always find fault with his actions. She seemed to take pleasure in beating him down...she was a hard woman and she was particularly brutal towards Credence.

Deep down, on some level, Credence believed he deserved the punishments. He’d read the Scripture, he’d heard the preachings of the Reverend, and they always chilled him to the soul. He knew he was an abomination. No matter how hard he tried, he could feel it there, just below his skin, the evil, the filth, the corruption. The tears fell more freely. He cried for himself, for the fourteen years of misery he had to his name, and the inevitable damnation of his soul. Did he even have a soul? He cried for the man at the newsstand - he knew the man was dead, as sure as he knew his own name was Credence Barebone. He cried for the evil inside and how no matter how hard he tried to be good, he couldn’t contain _it_. 

If he hadn’t been crying, perhaps he would have heard the commotion downstairs in the chapel. He did not, however, so wrapped up as he was in his guilt and self-loathing, so he was startled out of his silent misery by the door to the bedroom flying open. 

Credence jumped and turned away from the wall, then felt the guilt and fear rise up in him - Ma would give him another beating if she found out he’d moved from his corner. A man and a woman walked in, holding sticks in their outstretched hands. Credence flinched back, fearing another beating. The dark-haired woman lowered her stick immediately. 

He turned back quickly, and whispered “Please, please don’t tell her…” 

The woman walked closer as the man continued to stand in the doorway, his stick pointed at Credence. 

“What was that, lad?” asked the woman not unkindly.

“Please don’t tell Ma that I turned away from the wall.” 

The woman drew closer and he heard her draw a sharp breath as she caught sight of the blood on his shirt. The stick was instantly in her hands again, and Credence began to cry in earnest as he waited for the blows to land.

“Goldstein,” came a warning tone from the man in the doorway.   
  


“Sir, he’s bleeding - I have to help him.”   
  


If Credence or Tina had been looking at Graves in the doorway, they would have been struck by the expression that crossed his face - morbid curiosity, and cold calculation. The gears in his mind were already spinning as he planned on the best way to turn this situation to this benefit, and he grinned maliciously. He cast a quick charm towards Goldstein, as she cast diagnostic charms over the boy. 

The boy was feverish, weak with pain, delirious with hunger and exhaustion...he winced in fear, finally recognizing the wand for what it was, recognizing _her_ for what she was...a witch. And yet, the kindness and concern in her face gave him pause, as did the instant soothing he felt as the pain in his body stopped abruptly with a wave of her wand. He crumpled limply to his knees, resting his face on the floor as he sobbed softly. She made to comfort the boy, but Graves grabbed her arm. 

“Goldstein, step outside.”   
  
“What?” She said, angrily, and turned to glare at Graves. She froze when she met his eyes, which gleamed unnaturally in the dark.

“You’re getting hysterical. You attacked Miss Barebone in your rage. You are allowing your emotion to cloud your judgement. Step outside and calm yourself down before you do something you _regret_.” 

He grinned to himself at her dazed and glassy expression. “I, yes. I attacked her.”

“If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have killed her.” 

“I would have killed her.” 

“Go downstairs. Leave me with the boy. I will take care of him.”

“You will take care of him.” She turned on her heel and made her way out. 

He smiled to himself. He did not care for Tina Goldstein, she was an idealist, her morality was incorruptible, but she was easy to manipulate. She was sweet on Mr. Graves, and so she was particularly susceptible to his influence. He could manipulate her to his will with no effort at all and shut down her suspicions with ease. 

They didn’t call him _Silver Tongue_ for nothing. 

* * * * * * *

It was mid afternoon, and the heat was becoming truly unbearable, as Murdoch retraced his steps to the Second Salem Society. This time, he was accompanied by Inspector Brackenreid (who had insisted on coming along when he realised that heavy-handed _tosser,_ Meyers, was involved) and Julia. He still felt quite shaken by the day’s revelations, and it wasn't over yet. He was uncharacteristically quiet and uncomfortable-looking in the sweltering heat.

“Blimey, it’s bloody maftin’!'' exclaimed Inspector Brackenreid. He patted at his ruddy face with his handkerchief. “Could have used an afternoon at the beach instead of these sweltering streets. What exactly do you think we’re dealing with here, Me ol’ Mocker?” asked the Inspector. 

Murdoch paused in his tracks, and exchanged a glance with Dr. Ogden.

“Honestly, Sir...I have absolutely no idea.”

Brackenreid laughed. “That’s one for the books!” He shook his head, still chuckling to himself. “Never thought I’d see the day that the great William Murdoch didn’t have a single theory. Did that Scamander bloke have any useful information? Or is he just some nutter?” 

Murdoch made a strangled noise, and Dr. Ogden quickly intercepted, “He’s perfectly sane, Inspector. He postulated some theories as to what could have caused the explosions, but he is certainly not involved with any of it.”

Murdoch swallowed, “I concur. The only lead I think we have right now is the New Salem Society...we can now tie one muder and one bombing to this organization. I suspect they know more than what they're telling us.” 

“Well then, we’d better get there quickly and get some answers.” 

* * * * * * *

  
Graves extended his arm, and cradled the boy’s face in his hand. 

“That’s it, my boy...you are alright. You are safe. You are so special.”

Credence cried even harder. Graves pulled him into a tight embrace.

“My boy, you don’t deserve this life. You are destined for far far better things.” 

Credence’s tears slowly stopped, and he looked up at Graves with his tearstained soulful eyes. Graves looked deep into his eyes.

“Do you know what I am, boy?”

“A witch,” he whispered.   
  
“Wizard,” he corrected, “Witches are female, wizards are male.” 

“Wizard,” repeated the boy dazed. 

“I sense power in you, my boy….what is your name?”

“Credence.”

“Credence, I am Gr...Graves...Percival Graves. Would you like to come away with me? To become a powerful wizard and leave this place, leave this life behind, reinvent yourself, reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes?” 

Credence could barely bring himself to speak, he was still in a stupor from his ordeal, and now he was totally bewitched by the possibility the wizard before him spoke of. 

“Yes, Sir, I would like that very much!” 

Graves smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach his glittering dark eyes. He slipped his arms off of Credence, who seemed to slip down limply. He cradled Credence’s face in his hands.

“Credence, a powerful name, for a powerful lad. Belief....Credence... I believe in you, Credence. Do you believe in me?”

“I believe in you.”

“Well, Credence, I want you to join me, but first I need your help...one of the children in this place is also very powerful. Not as powerful as you, never as powerful, but he or she is suffering immensely and is at risk remaining in your mother’s presence.”

“She’s not my mother,” whispered Credence. 

Graved laughed coldly. 

“Indeed, she is not...though, she is still a risk to the other child. I need you Credence, I need your assistance.” He rubbed the tears on Credence’s cheeks.

“Help me save the other child, and then we can leave this place forever...Do I have your word, Credence?”

“Yes, Sir” whispered Credence. 

Graves smiled darkly, then bent close to whisper in Credence’s ear. 

* * * * * * *

A few minutes later, after navigating the maze of alleyways and streets of the Ward, Brackenreid, Murdoch and Julia made their way to the New Salem Society, only to find the door blocked by the brown-haired woman, Goldstein. Her hand instinctively flew to her pocket, and she looked at them suspiciously. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked angrily.   
  
“I beg your pardon?” retorted Murdoch, “We’re investigating a murder Miss Goldstein.”

“And you will address us with some respect,” snapped Inspector Brackenreid, totally taken aback.

“The Auror department has taken over this investigation,” she retorted.   
  
“The whosis?” snapped Inspector Brackenreid. He tried to push past her but she wouldn’t budge.

  
“Meyers!” He shouted into the chapel.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” snapped Goldstein angrily. 

“You’re going to have to get used to a little disappointment, Sunshine,” snapped Brackenreid. “Meyers, get out here!” 

After a beat, Mr. Meyers made his way out of the dilapidated chapel to the street. “Ah, Inspector. Detective. Doctor. What can I do for you?”

“You can let us get on with our jobs, Mr. Meyers,” retorted Murdoch, “We need to speak with Miss Barebone and the children. Urgently.” 

“I’m afraid you can’t at the moment...our team is currently speaking with them.”

“And your team is?” asked Brackenreid. 

“A highly trained force, sanctioned by the Prime Minister himself. This is out of your grade, gentlemen, I advise you to go home.”

“Meyers, murders have been committed here, we need to bring the guilty party to justice,” implored Murdoch. “You’ve done this in the past, tried to lock us out of the investigation, only to need our help a moment later.”

“This is out of my hands, Murdoch, excuse me.” He re-entered the building. Goldstein shot Murdoch a smug look, before turning to follow him, shutting and locking the door behind her. 

Brackenreid gave it an angry shove, muttering to himself angrily. 

“Well, that was unhelpful,” said Dr. Ogden. 

_PSSSSST_

“What was that?” she asked.

Murdoch turned his head, and caught a glimpse of rose fabric as it disappeared around the corner.

He led the way around the corner to an alleyway to find Meyers’s assistant. She looked as out of place in that soot-stained alley as a rose in the middle of a garbage heap. 

“Detective, they’ll be done soon. It’s best they don’t see you when they leave. Then you can interview the Barebone family.”

“And who are you now?” asked Inspector Brackenreid.   
  
“Queenie Goldstein, Inspector, I’m Mr. Meyers’s secretary.”

“How did you…” 

“I overheard you speaking with my sister.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Yes, Tina Goldstein, the auror.” 

“Miss Goldstein, do you often follow Mr. Meyers this closely?” asked Murdoch.

“No, Detective, but I had a feeling this would happen,” she said, nodding in the direction of the New Salem Society, “And I figured you could use my assistance.” 

“Your assistance?” asked Inspector Brackenreid.

“Detective, am I to understand that Mr. Scamander has let you in on _our_ world?” She asked Murdoch.

He nodded stiffly. 

“And the Inspector and…” 

“Dr. Ogden is also aware - the Inspector...no.” 

“Aware of?” asked Brackenreid, somewhat irritated to be left out of the loop again.

Queenie tilted her head and looked the Inspector directly in the eyes for a beat, then she said abruptly,   
  
“Magic is real. The murders and explosions are being caused by magical means unknown. Aurors are magical law enforcement officers who are trying to get to the bottom of this - The New Salemers are involved somehow. They’re thinking that perhaps one or more of the members are magical, posing as non-magic - muggle - witch-haters, sowing discontent and chaos hoping to spark a Magical-Muggle war by enacting actions of violence and destruction. There is a Magical terrorist, Grindelwald, active in Europe, who is very much following this pattern of behaviour - causing magical attacks to spark hatred between muggles and magicals...with me so far?” 

Brackenreid blinked. She stopped abruptly and turned her head back towards the New Salem Society. 

“They’re just finishing up...I’ve got to get back to the office. Give it a minute and then make your way over. I’ll be in touch!” 

Then she turned on the spot, and with a sharp CRACK, she vanished. The three of them leapt a foot in the air. 

“That must be what Mr. Scamander was talking about...apparating,” said Julia thoughtfully. 

“Excuse me, what the - did she just bloody _vanish_?”

* * * * * * *

At the same time, Watts, George and Newt were walking back towards City Hall. Watts and George were taking turns interrogating Newt about the magical world and the creatures he encountered in his travels. 

“Mr. Scamander, can I ask you a question?” 

“You just did, Constable Crabtree...several questions actually” said Newt with a smile, “but ask away…” 

“Well, Sir - this one is a bit more personal...About your manuscript - Are you committed to that title? _Fantastic Beasts: A Guide to the Magical Creatures that Inhabit Our World._ It's quite a mouthful.”

Newt looked defensive.

“How about _Fantastic Beasts and Where They Are..._ it's shorter and it captures both the fascinating details about the creatures and the adventures you had in finding and discovering them in your travels.”

“You read my manuscript?”

“Yes, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir, not the whole thing, obviously, but I came across it while...you know...searching your bag, I couldn’t help it, as a published author myself…”

“You are a published author? You are full of surprises, Constable.” 

“Yes, Sir - I’ve written _Curse of the Pharaohs_ , as well as the _Jumping Jack_ series...I’m working on two others now, one about a swashbuckling archeologist and another...well...yes, I’m a published author.”

“I’d like to read your works someday, Constable...it only seems fair after all. You read my fledgling manuscript...Well as a published author, what do you think?”

Scamander looked vulnerable as he looked at Crabtree.

“At the time I read it of course I thought it was a work of fantasy, knowing it is factual, I cannot speak to the validity of the information. From a reader’s perspective, however, it is informative and engaging, and your tone is both sincere and humorous, I thoroughly enjoyed what I read.” 

“Really?” He said, hopeful as a puppy.

“Yes, just that title it has to go.”

Scamander chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“That section on lethifolds…”

“Yes, nasty buggers…”

“Did you really fend one off with a tea kettle?” 

“Yes actually. I kept it at bay until I was able to cast a patronus.”

“What’s a patronus?” asked Watts, totally engrossed in Newt’s words. 

“It’s a powerful protection charm - it uses a positive memory to create a shield around the caster - the shield usually takes the form of an animal that best represents one’s identity.”

“Can you show us?” asked George excitedly. 

“Later perhaps, in private...it’s certainly not a spell to cast in public...it’s hardly subtle...unless I’d like to find myself arrested by the aurors.”

They’d found their way back to City Hall. The area was now deserted except for a few curious civilians trying to catch a glimpse of the destruction. 

“This is what we think was the epicenter of the blast,” said Watts leading them to the place where they found the footprints. Scamander dropped to the ground and examined the marks very carefully. 

“This is an incredibly powerful obscurus...I...I hope we’re not too late,” he said softly. 

“The footprints?” asked Watts. 

“I didn’t see anything like this the last time. When the….when…” 

Watts nodded carefully.

Scamander paused and poked at a clod of soot, frowning to himself. “Did you notice any children around here when the explosion happened?” he asked of them.

“Yes, actually. There were a group of boys sprawled out not far from here…” Watts said, remembering suddenly, “Do you think one of them…”

“It's possible. Were any of them affiliated with the New Salem Society?”

“I can’t be certain. It all happened so quickly. The boy, Credence, the lad who bumped into you, was here as well. His siblings and the other children were scattered in the crowd. It could have been any number of them.” 

Newt nodded to himself, as if confirming his suspicion. 

“It would have to be a child of less than twelve years old...the Barebone boy is about fourteen or fifteen by my estimation,” said Newt thoughtfully.

“The youngest Barebone child, Modesty, she’s a little...unsettling,” said Watts.

“How do you mean?” asked Newt curiously, looking up at him intently from his position on the ground.

“She seems intense. She tends to stare at you without blinking...she also was very happy about “preaching” - I heard her singing a little song to herself about...erm...killing witches. Is that normal for obscurials?”

“It’s hard to say,” said Newt sadly. “Obscurials are just ordinary children born with magical abilities until they experience the trauma that causes them to reject their magic. It’s hard to say how a child behaves - how they cope with abuse.”

“The New Salem Society is a bleak and hopeless place. The Reverend and Miss Barebone raised the children with hatred and fear of magic, and the constant threat of violence,” said Watts bitterly. 

“A place like that would certainly be a toxic place for any child, especially one who has magic...could you imagine the constant fear? It would be agony,” said Newt softly.

He had them stand guard before subtly casting the tracking charm. Apparently it made some sort of sense to Newt who stood abruptly. 

“Well, there’s a lot of information here...so many people running around in a panic, but there certainty was an obscurus here...Its presence is like a dark void from an energy point of view. Anyone who knows what to look for would have spotted it instantly.” 

“Is it still...alive?” asked George, gently. 

Scamander nodded. “It was very powerful and well...I fear we don’t have much time…” 

Watts glanced at the City Hall clocktower. “We have three quarters of an hour before we are to meet with Detective Murdoch...let’s try to track down some of your creatures in the meantime? Do you have any leads?”

“It’s hard to be 100% certain, but I found traces of some of my missing creatures. We can start with Nick I suppose...are there any jewellery stores nearby? Or anything vaguely shiny?” Scamander began to walk “preferably in this direction?” He called out to them. 

Watts and Crabtree exchanged a look before taking off after the magizoologist.

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love Watts and Crabtree's friendship in _Murdoch Mysteries_. They're so adorable. I hope I'm doing them justice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick the Niffler is retrieved from a life of sheer debauchery.

**Chapter 10**

Inspector Brackenreid’s head was spinning. He could use a drink. The bombshell that Miss Goldstein had dropped and her prompt **_disappearance_ **had left him reeling. It took every ounce of his military training and Yorkshire hardiness to pull himself in check. He was totally surprised that Dr. Ogden and William Bloody Murdoch of all people were taking these outlandish revelations in stride. Was this some sort of prank? He didn’t think Murdoch was the sort to be involved in a prank.

In truth, Brackenreid realised that Miss Goldstein’s frank and abrupt method of sharing the information shocked him into action - if he stopped a moment, he’d probably go into a panic. He didn’t give himself the time to even process what had been said. He was barely keeping himself calm. The barmy Barebone bint wasn’t making things any easier. 

She was insisting about witches and _Evil of Biblical Proportions_ ...He shuddered internally. Normally he would dismiss her outright as an absolute nutter. Now... He _really_ could use a drink.

* * * * * * *

In almost no time, they found Nick. It was no surprise at all to Newt who glared at the creature through the glass of the jewellery store window. To Watts and George, Nick appeared to be a cross between a beaver and a platypus. 

_He was rather cute_ , thought George as he looked at the little devil, currently attempting to shove as many shiny things into his pouch as he could. He hadn’t yet noticed Newt who rapped on the glass sharply with a knuckle. The creature looked up and froze, an expensive-looking ornate ring halfway in his pouch. He gave what could only be described as a creature equivalence of Newt’s sheepish grin before scampering. Newt sprinted into the store after him.

“Wait,” called out Watts, far too late. Crabtree winced as he watched Newt push past the flustered shopkeeper and climb up over the display case to look for Nick.

“Should we go after him?” asked Crabtree nervously… “We have to stop him! He will get into so much trouble.” 

Watts cocked his head to the side, thinking furiously. “Hold on a moment.” 

George’s panic grew as he watched Newt catch sight of Nick in a display case of priceless pocket watches. With a wave of his hand, the display case shattered, and Nick shot across the air into his outstretched hand. The jeweller was apoplectic. He shook his fist at Newt, and appeared to be shouting at the top of his lungs. An assistant triggered the burglar alarm.

George groaned. He made to rush into the shop, but Watts held him back.   
  
“Trust me.” 

They watched as Newt gingerly held Nick by the hindpaws and gave him a good sharp shake. 

Troves of gold and jewels rained from Nick’s pouch. A mound of jewellery - amounting to a small fortune - slowly accumulated on the shop’s counter like falling snow. The jeweller’s face shifted from rage to shock in the blink of an eye.

“Now,” said Watts, and he casually strolled into the store. Crabtree followed bewildered. 

Watts flashed his badge to the shopkeeper who looked, if possible, even more confused. “I’m Detective Llewellyn Watts, Toronto Constabulary, and this is Constable George Crabtree,” he said nodding at George. 

“...and THIS man is an infamous jewellery thief,” Watts said, grabbing Newt roughly by the arm. 

“What are you doing?” muttered Newt with a furrowed brow.   
  
“Play along,” hissed Watts into Newt’s ear. Newt made sure he had a firm grasp on Nick. Cottoning on, George spoke up, addressing the shop keeper and the customers while making his way to the counter: “The Constabulary thanks you from the very bottom of our hearts. Toronto can rest easy tonight, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve done a great service for your city!” He switched off the burglar alarm.

“We’ve been on his trail, waiting to get our hands on him for months,” proclaimed Watts, and he gave Newt’s arm a squeeze and cleared his throat slightly. 

“Ah right...er...Drat! I would have gotten away with it if not for the diligence and dedication of the Toronto Constabulary,” said Newt. Watts raised his eyebrows, George winced.

“Looks like my criminal days are behind me..." continued Newt, utterly unconvincingly, "Bad to the bone I am...heading directly to jail for life. What an end to a life of sheer debauchery-” 

“THANK you for your assistance, Sir,” said George, to the jeweller, cutting Scamander off, “You’ve helped to bring a notorious jewel thief to justice!” 

“Notorious?” asked the jeweller taking in Scamander’s mismatched clothing and kicked-puppy expression.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you, this man is a vicious criminal genius,” said Watts earnestly. 

“Oh so criminal! Very vicious!” said Newt nodding in agreement.

Watts looked at him disbelieving and bit the inside of his lips in effort to not laugh.

“Cuff him, George,” Watts finally managed to say. 

“Right, Sir.” They made an exaggerated show of arresting Newt to the applause of the customers. Crabtree and Watts led Newt to the door with a final “thank you” to the jeweller who seemed to come back to his senses. He shouted at their retreating backs, “Hang on a tick! What about my bloody display case!?” 

He ran out after them, only to find the street deserted. 

* * * * * * *

  
Newt, Crabtree, and Watts were a little winded - a common side-effect of slide-along apparition. 

“That was awful, Sir,” he said after a few shuddering breaths. 

“Apparition is always like that. You kind of get used to it after a while,” said Newt sympathetically, “Slide-along is particularly unpleasant, especially in a high-stress situation. Honestly, I’m surprised I managed it.” 

Watts was still holding on to Newt’s arm as he gathered himself. 

“With all due respect, Sir,” said George, awkwardly, “I don’t know if that was the best way to go about retrieving Nick - it was rather - public.” 

“If I hadn’t intervened, Nick would have made a right mess of that shop. Nifflers are lovely creatures, gentle and friendly for the most part, but they’re not meant to be kept indoors, especially not in a shop with so many shiny and breakable things. It would have been pandemonium.”

Watts chuckled to himself slightly, and met Newt’s eyes with his warm brown ones. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised we got away with that - Mr. Scamander, you are the least convincing criminal I have ever encountered. The _Diligence and dedication_ _of the Toronto Constabulary_ …What an end to a life of sheer debauchery, indeed.” 

Newt blushed. Watts still hadn’t removed his hand from Newt’s arm, and Newt found himself not minding all that much. There was something he found comforting about Watts's presence. He was so warm and alive. Newt was never one for much physical contact or affection...when Newt was a child, father had been affectionate, but he’d died when Newt was rather young. Mum wasn’t one for outward signs of affection - especially not after Father died. With the exception of his hug-happy brother (who always made Newt feel somewhat suffocated) the only cuddles he ever gave or received were from his creatures. He was surprised that he didn’t mind Watts’s touch at all. Being near him had a calming effect on Newt, and he was perfectly happy to allow it to go on forever. 

The _handcuffs_ on the other hand. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Constable, would you mind?” He nodded down at his bound hands. 

“Right, Sir! Sorry, Sir,” said George, and he quickly unlocked and removed the cuffs. Watts let his hand fall back down to his side. Newt rubbed his own wrists a moment as he tried not to miss the warm contact of Watts’s hand. Then, he quickly dropped down to his knees on the ground to unlock his case. He pulled a sheepish Nick out from his coat pocket and placed him in the case. “That will have to do temporarily - I’ll get him settled properly lat-.” 

He was interrupted by a sharp screech and the arrival of a gigantic bird which landed directly on Newt’s head.   
  
“Good LORD!” exclaimed Crabtree as he and Watts jumped back in surprise.   
  
“Are you alright Mr. Scamander?” asked Watts nervously. 

“I think Miss Goldstein has made good on her promise, Constable…” said Newt weakly as the owl extended a sharp talon towards George. Tied to its leg was a scroll of parchment.   
  
“What in the world?” he asked, totally dumbfounded. 

“Owl post,” said Newt, “Rapid, reliable, and incidentally, great for rodent control - it’s our main method of magical communication.” 

“How does one remove the post without getting clawed?” asked George nervously. 

“It’s addressed to you, Constable, the owl won’t attack you. Post owls are incredibly intelligent.”   
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of…” muttered George. Still, he bravely - if cautiously - strode forward and untied the scroll from the owl’s leg. The owl cocked its head and watched George with its intelligent amber eyes. 

“I think she’s awaiting a response,” said Newt, standing carefully so as not to dislodge the owl.

“Am I supposed to...talk to the owl?” asked George nervously. 

Newt chuckled and fished into his pockets. He pulled out an old-fashioned quill and a piece of parchment and handed it off to George. Then, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a dry biscuit. 

At Watts’s raised eyebrows, Newt smiled sheepishly and said, “Always carry owl treats with you...they never go to waste!” 

He clicked his tongue, and the owl leapt off his head and onto his shoulder. He fed the biscuit to the owl. 

The owl carefully nuzzled against his cheek and then began preening Newt’s hair. Newt chuckled good-naturedly.

“Well, what does she say, Constable Crabtree?” 

George looked at Newt utterly confused, “The owl, Sir?”   
  
“ _Miss Goldstein_ ,” he said nodding at the scroll.

“Oh right, of course.” 

_Dear George,_

_  
_ _It was nice meeting you today! I hope you aren’t too rattled by discovering our world. If you’d like to, maybe we can grab a butterbeer sometime soon? Just the two of us. We could get to know each other better. I'd like to get to know you better!_

_I have some information I would like to share with you and your friends. And Mr. Scamander as well. It might be helpful for your investigations._

_I hope to see you soon! Please send your response with Zillah, she’ll know where to find me._

_Yours,_

_  
_ _Queenie_

“Zillah,” said Newt affectionately extending his hand towards the owl, she nuzzled it gently with her beak, allowing him to stroke her feathers, “A lovely name for a beautiful owl - Great Grays are rare as post owls in England - they’re native to these parts.” 

“Zillah, I believe that’s ‘shadow’ in Hebrew,” said Watts, approaching the owl carefully. 

Newt beamed, “Fitting indeed!” Watts cautiously strode the owl’s chest feathers. The owl relished his attention and crooned happily. 

George watched Scamander and Watts befriend the predatory bird in disbelief, shaking his head slightly. 

“Your answer, Constable,” prodded Scamander gently. He again nodded at the quill and parchment. “The quill is self-inking.” 

George shook himself out of his stupor. He quickly scrawled a message, paraphrasing only the last paragraph aloud to Watts and Scamander.

_Dear Queenie,_

_It was nice meeting you today as well. I must confess, your world is strange and fantastical - it has left me quite shocked, but not in a bad way. I eagerly look forward to learning more!_

_What is a butterbeer? No matter, I’d be happy to try anything if it means a chance to get to know you better!_

_We are on our way to the station house now to meet with Detective Murdoch. Perhaps you could meet us there as well this afternoon? If not...let me know what would work best for you?_

_I look forward to seeing you soon!_

_Sincerely yours,_

_George_

  
  


* * * * * * *

The New Salem Society was once again proving to be a waste of time. Murdoch swallowed back his frustration as he watched Julia try to speak with Miss Barebone who was refusing to speak to her on account that a “woman doctor” is too close to a witch for her liking. 

“Oy, this is a murder investigation, Miss Barebone. Your participation is not optional,” snapped the Inspector. 

“There is no _investigation_ needed, it was witches that did this to Ebenezer, and they set the explosion at City Hall - they’re trying to sabotage our work.”

“How did the witches do that Miss Barebone?” asked Julia patiently. Miss Barebone ignored her. 

“Oh for the love of…” snapped Brackenreid, “Did you hear her? How did the witches kill your cousin and set the explosion?!”

“With their devilish powers and witchy wiles.”

“How does one stop a witch?” asked Julia. 

At Miss Barebone’s silence, Murdoch breathed a sigh, “How does one stop a witch?”

“You command her to stop in the name of the Lord. Witches can’t speak scripture. They can’t go to holy places or touch religious relics. That’s how you always find them out. Then, once she is found, she must be put to death. Burning or hanging, that’s the way to deal with witches.” 

“Have you killed any witches, Miss Barebone?” asked Julia softly. 

“Answer her question,” snapped Murdoch, at Miss Barebone’s silence. 

Miss Barebone shot him a look of pure distaste. 

“I haven’t caught one yet - they’re too tricky. But I’ve been preventing them from grabbing hold of the children. Spare the rod, spoil the child. I do not allow the children to engage in any soul-damaging behaviour.” 

This really was getting nowhere. 

Brackenreid walked out of the office where Murdoch and Dr. Ogden were still interrogating Miss Barebone. Total nutter - he doubted they’d get anything useful from her. 

As he crossed the pulpit, he was surprised to find a little girl standing quietly in the gloom. Her sickly pale face glowed in the darkness. Brackenreid nearly jumped out of his skin, but he quickly contained his shock. There was something - off - about the girl.

“Hullo, what’s your name?” he asked in his friendliest, most fatherly voice. The girl just stared at him. He felt his skin crawl.   
  
“Modesty! Don’t bother the gentleman!” Came a voice from the alcove that functioned as a kitchen. 

Brackenreid looked to his left and saw another girl, frightfully pale and thin, diligently stirring a large pot on the fire. 

Modesty didn’t blink. 

“Come here at once!” insisted the older girl. Modestly turned, still unblinking and obediently made her way to the kitchen. 

Brackenreid followed. 

“Sorry, Love, I didn’t catch your name” he said to the older girl. 

“Chastity Barebone. This is my sister, Modesty.” Brackenreid nodded politely, “Pleased to meet you Miss Barebone. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

“Ma don’t like us talking to strangers,” she replied nervously. 

“I’m not a stranger, I’m Inspector Brackenreid of the Toronto Constabulary. I’m trying to find and punish those responsible for the murder of the Reverend Winters, and the explosion at City Hall today. Many people have been killed, we’re just trying to bring justice.” 

Chastity blinked, clearly conflicted.   
  


“Do you know anyone who would have wanted to harm Reverend Winters?” he asked.

“The witches,” said Modesty. 

Chastity elbowed her in the side. 

“The Reverend was a good man. He was doing the Lord’s work,” said Chastity, “But he was a hard man, determined and devoted. I wouldn’t be surprised that evil people would want him gone.” 

“Do you know what he was doing out last night?”

Chastity looked concerned. She glanced towards the back room to make sure Miss Barebone was still occupied. Then she looked down at Modesty and said, “Modesty, place the Literature on the tables. The street children will be here soon for supper.” 

She handed the little girl a large stack of pamphlets from a box on the floor beside her. Modesty looked at her with unblinking eyes before taking the stack and skipping off, chanting softly to herself “ _Witch number one, drown in a river, witch number two, got a noose to giver her, witch number three, gonna watch her burn, witch number four, flogging take a turn…”_ Brackenreid felt his stomach turn. 

Seeing her sister occupied, Chastity whispered quickly to the inspector, “Reverend Winters would wander the city at night, hunting for witches. It was his dream to catch one, and make an example of her...showing the world that witches are real, getting folks riled up, and then executing her in the public square, like in Salem...they’re descendants, you know? Of the witch finders.” 

“Do you think he ever hurt anyone?”

“I don’t believe he’s ever caught a witch, Sir.” 

“That’s not what I asked."

“He was a hard man, Sir. Fire and brimstone. He believed in corporal punishment, and thought it was the best way to keep us in check. Do I think he killed anyone? I don’t think so. I think he would have told us if he’d caught and killed a witch.”

“Do you honestly believe in witches?”

“It’s not my place to say, Sir. All I know is, I’m not surprised that someone went and killed him.”

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had too much fun with this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The next one's going to be a bit dark.


	11. Chapter 11 - Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we hear from Credence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a tough one. Sorry!
> 
> We're getting a bit into Credence's head, so there'll be some self-loathing, mentions of abuse, violence, bigotry, homophobia. Poor lad :(

**Chapter 11 - Interlude**  
  
The New Salem Society could tell you six ways from Sunday how charitable and kind they were to save the souls of the children and fight the scourge of witchcraft in the world. They could tell you a lot of things, but they would be absolutely wrong. No matter the original intention, the obsessive hatred that filled the hearts of Reverend Winters and Miss Barebone could corrupt even the most pious soul to evil. Their missionary work was nothing short of bribery - using hungry and destitute children to spread their propaganda on the promise of a bowl of warm soup, then punishing their minor mistakes with violence and abuse.

Is it any wonder that such a hateful home would breed violence and destruction? 

Credence had been holding back his rage and pain for a LONG time before he snapped. It started one particularly bad day in February of 1925. Ma had belted him for returning late from “collecting” as she called it - begging on the streets for “donations” for their missionary work.

He already carried the humiliation of a day spent being laughed at and sneered at by strangers. The last thing he needed was a beating.

He lay in bed that night wincing as the ancient springs of his thin mattress poked into his raw back. The rage and hurt at the injustice of it built up to a breaking point, and he was driven half mad with the need to escape. 

That was the first night he snuck out. He waited until everyone had fallen asleep, listening to the creakings and moanings of the old chapel building as the wind whistled through the cracks in the walls. When he was sure they had all fallen asleep, he crept out the window. The missing wood shingles gave him purchase for his hands and feet, and he was able to scale the wall easily. He paused in the alley beside the chapel, tasting freedom in the cold night air for the first time in his life. 

The night was his. The city was open for him to explore. He was delirious and giddy with the freedom of it. Then the guilt began to creep in. 

Ma would find out. She always found out, and she would _punish_ him. 

He couldn’t go too far, or he’d risk being discovered. The panic and guilt welled up in him. He scanned his surroundings with frightened eyes. He noticed the fire escape of the next door tenement building immediately. With the panic building to nearly intolerable levels, he climbed the fire escape to the roof. There, he nestled between the chimney stack and an abandoned pigeon coop and cried. He cried and cried until there were no tears left, and he sat curled there, gasping for breath as he stared out at the dark rooftops. A sense of calm overcame him, and his mind was blessedly empty as he watched the moon set. 

He felt neither cold nor discomfort. He just _was_ . He relished the freedom of letting his guard down, of not having to worry or plan. He contemplated running away - who would miss him? Surely Ma would be glad to have one less mouth to feed...or beating to deliver. And the Reverend made no secret of expressing his hatred for Credence...the man was _particularly_ cruel to him.

It would be all too easy. He could sneak away across the rooftops and back alleys to the docklands, stow away upon a ship and set sail to discover his future. Perhaps only Chastity would miss him - she was the only person in his life who was not antagonistic towards him. Perhaps he could send for her one day, when he found himself settled in a new life in a new city. Total freedom. 

He scoffed internally. These thoughts were dangerous. They gave him the chance to hope for a better life, which he knew could never happen. He would be found in moments, and sent back to Ma, and she would probably beat him to death. 

And he would deserve it, thought the small nasty voice that sounded an awful lot like the Reverend. _You are an abomination, Credence_. _The filthy unwanted bastard son of a wicked woman. A son of a witch, and most probably a witch yourself._

His earliest memory had been the day his Ma adopted him. She made sure to tell him then and remind him again and again that his birth mother had been a _loose woman_ , who desperate for power and money turned to witchcraft and sold her soul to the devil for some of his witchy powers. She had left her son to the streets, a sacrifice to the Devil in gratitude for her powers, when Ma _rescued_ him. She never explained how or why, only to remind him of how _ungrateful he was_ , and how he could never repay her for saving his soul. 

There had to be some truth to it - his spirit sank as he thought it - if God existed (and Ma and the Reverend constantly reminded him that He did) - He wouldn’t condemn Credence to such a miserable existence...unless he deserved it. So surely he must? 

Credence didn’t understand how his mother had become a witch, he couldn’t remember her at all - when he tried to, he could only remember some warmth. Surely this couldn’t be the case if she were wicked and destined for hellfire and damnation? Unless he were destined for the same fate? His heart sank even further. 

He never allowed himself to _feel it_. The warm tingle in his chest and fingertips that had been there since his childhood. It felt like sunshine, yet he knew what it was - knew that he would be dead if anyone suspected it. He knew he should be dead...that was what the Good Book preached… “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” 

In his most private and lonely moments, in the heat of the very worst of his beatings, Credence knew deep down inside that he deserved to be punished, that he was just like _her_ , just as unholy, just as tainted as his mother. He would try better, even if it killed him, to be good. To be pure and holy, and maybe if he tried hard enough, God would take pity on him and liberate him from this living hell. In the meantime, he would accept his suffering as atonement. 

He sighed as the eastern horizon started to lighten, the telltale sign of the coming dawn. He steeled himself to his lot in life, and made his way back down to reality.

Though Credence may have resigned himself to his suffering, he stole away to the rooftop any chance he had, any time the burden of his situation grew too much. There, alone in the dark with the world asleep below him, he would let his emotions loose, crying and shaking until he was totally spent. It was his catharsis. 

He was shocked when _It_ happened the first time...when the dark cloud of _evil_ that was in him and part of him emerged. It was dark as the night itself and evil-looking, and it frightened him so greatly that he spent the night curled in on himself reciting verses from The Bible as the thing ranged and stormed around him. He was sure it was a demon - a Spirit of Evil from the deepest pits of Hell that took the place of a witch’s soul when she sold her soul to the Devil. That night he cursed his mother, cursed himself, cursed God and cursed the Devil, and as he raged, so too did The Thing. The next day on the streets, he heard of the destruction that had occurred the night before. He was sickened knowing that he was the cause. 

Over the following few days, Credence made sure to do things to upset Ma on purpose so that he could be punished. He accepted his suffering in silence as she beat and starved him, because he understood that he deserved to be punished for the evil he did and the evil he was. But the more he was punished, the more the evil built up inside him. It would burst out uncontrollably when his emotions ran wild.

One day, after a beating, the energy burst from him and it shattered a mug in the kitchen. And though the thing had remained invisible, Ma went white, and the Reverend saw red, and dragged him by the hair to the office room. He beat Credence within an inch of his life, then locked him in a cupboard. He left Credence in the dark for three days and three nights while he sat in front of it, praying and reading scripture all the while. When Credence was finally allowed out, he was weak and delirious, but he hoped that perhaps this had been enough, that the Thing had finally left him.

Of course, he had no such luck.  
  


The first time he’d killed he wasn’t aware until it was too late. The rage had built up, his vision went black, and when he came to, the young man was dead.

The man had been a small time thief, well-known in the Ward. 

Credence had been returning home to the New Salem Society one evening after a long day of begging for donations on the streets of Toronto. The jingle of coins was too much of a temptation for the thief. He pulled Credence roughly into an alley and threatened him at knifepoint till he handed over his meager earnings. Then he scampered, leaving Credence to feel the wrath of Ma and the Reverend. Ma Barebone and Rev. Winters had not believed his story, and been particularly cruel in their punishments, thinking he had spent the coins on himself. That night, the cloud had come for the thief. 

The second had been a drunkard. At one point, he had been an apprentice at the print shop that produced their pamphlets, but he hadn’t worked there in years. The man had shown up to deliver their pamphlets drunk and disorderly, and the Reverend had reported him to the shop owner. The man had been summarily fired. He bitterly lost himself in drink and in making the lives of the New Salem children as miserable as he possibly could. He leered at and heckled the children as they preached in the Ward, and he took great pleasure in tearing up their papers and spitting at their feet. 

He was particularly harsh towards Credence, whose cheeks would burn in shame at the man’s vulgar taunts. The drunkard must have seen Credence sneak out one night, for he shouted to anyone that would listen that he was a _freak_ , a nancy-boy that would steal away in the night to perform _acts of gross indecency,_ under the nose of his _pious_ mother. 

  
One day, Ma overheard. She took the man’s ravings to heart, and took it upon herself to “whip the ungodliness out of the boy,” which she did with great relish. She then locked him in the dark again, where she left him all day and night. Half unconscious with rage, pain and hunger, he felt the wind rush and whistle. That night, the cloud came for the drunkard.   
  


Perhaps he should have known that his escape to the rooftops had been too good to be true - if Credence knew anything it was that life was pain and sorrow and that nothing good ever lasted. 

Modesty awoke one night, just as Credence was sneaking back to their bedroom. He looked into her pale face and unblinking eyes with dread welling up inside his chest. 

He pleaded with her in almost-inaudible whispers to say nothing, promising her half his meals for the rest of their lives, but he feared it was fruitless. Modesty was too young to understand and too caught up her upbringing to see otherwise. 

By the next day, the Reverend had been informed. His head still full of the drunkard’s accusations, he decided to wait and watch. He rewarded Modesty with a handful of coins which she happily squirrelled away to buy candy at the market. 

When nothing happened for a few days, Credence hoped that Modesty had in fact kept his secret - or perhaps believed that she had dreamed the entire encounter. It had been a stressful week, filled with beatings over the smallest transgressions. He needed release. 

He decided to risk it, though he was more careful than ever before. He waited until almost two in the morning before rising, silent as a ghost. 

The Reverend was waiting for him. Credence had thought he knew pain before, but never anything like this. The Reverend’s fists rained down on him, before he grabbed Credence by the throat. The boy tried to cry out, desperately trying to blink away the black spots in his vision as he tried to gasp for air. 

Then it happened. A white spark of lightning struck the Reverend’s chest and he was thrown back off of Credence. 

He stood up, looking at Credence with a mix of shock and horror. 

“You! You...witch! You devilish beast! Unholy stain! I should have known. Just like your whore of a mother. Living under my roof, abusing my charity, laughing and sabotaging my crusades. I will send your soul back to the Devil, where it belongs.” He lunged at Credence, but Credence took off running.   
  
He practically flew down streets and alleyways. Driven only by the desperate desire to escape, Credence didn’t notice where he was going until he reached the end of the alley. He was trapped. 

His heart hammering in his chest, he hopelessly looked for a way out as he sensed more than saw the Reverend approach. 

The Reverend grabbed Credence by the hair, and the boy wheeled around. He saw the unadulterated hatred in the Reverend’s eyes, and he knew without a shred of a doubt that the man would kill him. The wind howled in his ears and everything went black. 

  
Credence’s short life had been nothing but darkness, hatred and misery. He’d never hoped for anything better - until he’d met Percival Graves. He’d seen kindness, he’d understood it as an abstract concept...he’d seen mothers hug their children on the street - seen people act kindly to one another....some few souls occasionally showed kindness to him...that Detective for one - he had the man’s calling card stowed away under his mattress away from his mother’s prying eyes. But Graves was in a different league entirely - he shone bright and powerful in the darkness of his life. 

If Mr. Graves was a witch-er-wizard, and he was living his life and thriving, why could Credence not do the same? He longed to escape his world, to follow Mr. Graves to a world of magic and wonder. He longed to be like Mr. Graves, powerful and respected, not ridiculed and beaten down. Dare he dream about the possibility of being like him one day? 

He resolved to help Graves, to find the child quickly...perhaps this was the deliverance for which he had been waiting! Perhaps his suffering was finally to come to an end. 

  
All his life he’s been told that witches were evil, but if Mr. Graves could be himself, surely he too could be? The thought sparked hope in his chest for the first time ever, and the roiling _Thing_ inside him seemed less dark for the first time in ages.

* * * * * * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Queenie brings George apple strudel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know prohibition was not officially repealed in Ontario until 1927, but for the purposes of this story I’m pretending the “light beer amendment” of 1923 was the end of prohibition (at least as far as the personal purchasing and consumption of alcohol.) I’m sacrificing historical accuracy here for a scene in which Inspector Brackenreid discovers firewhisky, and from a fan-fiction point of view, I feel this is a fair trade.

**Chapter 12**  
  
“...that sounds truly fantastic, Mr. Scamander! What an adventure you’ve been living! It’s the sort of thing most men only _dream_ of,” said George wistfully, as he nodded politely to an elderly couple they passed in the street on their way back to Station House Four.

Newt smiled shyly to himself. “I’ve been very fortunate. I have seen some truly amazing things in my travels...But I hardly consider myself an adventurer, nor my life one that most would envy. I spend a lot of time alone, in far-flung places doing things that few would care about.”

“Not unlike my swashbuckling archeologist character,” said George with a grin.

“I suppose, though - I’m hardly a swashbuckler! I’m not seeking fame nor fortune...I am merely witnessing the wonders of the world. It’s been said, 'Travel makes one modest...You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.'”

Watts met Newt’s eyes and smiled broadly, “Gustave Flaubert!”

Newt’s grin was like brilliant sunshine. “Precisely right!”

Watts laughed, “He also said, “Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” 

“And are you?” asked Newt with a wry grin.

“Am I?” asked Watts.

“Regular and orderly in life, and violent and original in your work?”

“I would say I’m “irregular and disorderly” in life and an ‘unorthodox pacifist’ in everything else,” said Watts with a chuckle, “And you?”

Newt laughed, “That sounds about right for me as well.”

He was pensive a moment, then said, “Do you know this one? ‘Peaceful is the one who’s not concerned with having more or less. Unbound by name and fame, he is free from sorrow from the world and mostly from himself.’” 

“That’s lovely, Mr. Scamander,” said George. 

“Is that Rumi?” asked Watts.

“Yes!” He thought of his well-worn copy of _The Persian Mystics_ , translated by F. Hadland Davis resting on the desk nearest his cot. 

“A 13th Century Persian poet and Islamic scholar,” said Newt, at George’s confused expression. “He also wrote ‘Respect your uniqueness. Drop comparison. Relax into your being.’ His writings...they inspired me tremendously.” 

“Did you not previously _respect your uniqueness_?” asked George.

Newt smiled sadly, “Not really...It’s been a long process to get there.” He glanced wistfully towards George who greeted yet another person they passed with a polite nod and a cheery “Good Afternoon Mrs. Greene, lovely day, isn’t it?”

“People _like_ you, don’t they, Constable Crabtree? You seem an amiable fellow...very likeable,” said Newt.

George stammered, “Er, Um, I mean...I’m sure people like you as well, Mr. Scamander.”

“Not really, no. I annoy people.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is. I don’t really have many friends, just a very small group of people who tolerate me in small doses.” 

George lifted an eyebrow and looked at Watts, and then back at Newt, clearly troubled by this new revelation.

“I don’t find you annoying,” said Watts gently. ‘ _Quite the contrary’_ he thought.

“Nor I!” said George quickly and vehemently.

Newt smiled, “You’d certainly be in the minority with that sentiment.”

“Mathematically speaking, Mr. Scamander, two-thirds is a majority,” said Watts with feigned seriousness. 

Newt laughed, “The people of Toronto appear to be particularly kind and tolerant.” He met Watts’s eyes, and observed their warmth and the way they crinkled as he smiled. He had such lovely eyes.

“And what do you think of Toronto so far?” asked George, “Has it met your expectations?” Newt tore his gaze away from Watts quickly and turned to George.

“To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect when I got to Toronto. But I’ve found it to be a charming city...and the people have been lovely…” He cocked his head to the side, “With a couple of obvious exceptions...Miss Barebone and Mr. Graves for example.” 

“I believe It was Alexander Pope who wrote: ‘Blessed is he who has no expectations for he will never be disappointed,’” said Watts with a wry grin. 

Newt chuckled. “Very wise! Thus far I’m certainly not disappointed.”

* * * * * * *

They arrived at the Station House to find Dr. Ogden, Inspector Brackenreid and Detective Murdoch had returned in the company of the two eldest Barebone children. They were seated awkwardly around the desk in the Inspector’s office. 

Watts carefully looked over Credence, and then to the girl - Chastity he thought her name was. They looked thin and frail as ever, though Credence’s skin looked to be a bit healthier in hue. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked gently.

“Miss Barebone did not feel up to coming to formally identify her cousin - she sent the children instead. We’re just having tea to recover before I accompany them back home,” said Dr. Ogden brightly. 

Watts held back a snort. He could imagine the woman had been less-than-helpful. He hoped the children didn’t suffer her ire upon their return. 

Dr. Ogden seemed to read his thoughts, as she shot him a sardonic smile and said, “I will ask Henry to accompany us and make sure the children are settled and resting after the ordeal. I will have another word with Miss Barebone while I’m there.” She excused herself to fetch Henry, but not before making sure they each took another biscuit. 

“How’s your other sister?” Asked Watts carefully…”Modesty?”

“She’s alright, Sir,” said Chastity as she stood and quickly made her way to the door, “We’d best get back to Ma, Credence. She told us not to dawdle...Thank you,” she said, with a quick glance at The Inspector.

“You’re very welcome Miss Barebone,” said the Inspector gently, “And thank you for your assistance with the case.”

She nodded curtly, not meeting his eyes, and turned to leave the office. Credence was staring fixedly at the floor, as if willing himself to disappear. Watts walked over to the boy, and said, “I’ll accompany you both to the door as we wait for Dr. Ogden and Constable Higgins.” He gently rested a hand on his shoulder and steered him out of the room after his sister. 

When they were away from the others, he whispered, “Are you recovered from today’s ordeal?” 

A look of pure panic overcame Credence’s countenance as he looked up at Watts. _How could the man have known about_... 

“The explosion?” Watts clarified quickly. 

Credence seemed to deflate, finally understanding Watts’s question.

He nodded. 

“No ill effects, I hope?”

He hesitated, thinking back to the beating he received, but then, remembering Graves, he shook his head. 

But Watts had caught the hesitation.

“Credence...if you, or any of the children at The New Salem Society are in danger, please don’t hesitate...” 

Credence didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded abruptly. 

“Mr. Barebone! There you are. Are we ready to head home?” asked Julia. Chastity stood beside her, looking curiously at Credence.

Watts removed his hand from Credence’s shoulder. 

“Please remember what I said, lad.” 

Credence nodded once and then obediently made his way over to his place beside his sister. Watts looked after them as they left the station. Credence did not look back. 

Watts made his way back to the Inspector’s office where Murdoch and Brackenreid were discussing what they had learned at the New Salem Society with George and Newt.

“So Miss Barebone was…”

“A useless bloody nuisance,” said the Inspector. He pushed aside his tea and instead tried to pour himself a glass of scotch from his decanter, only to find it empty. 

“Drat. Tea isn’t strong enough to deal with all this madness.” 

Newt smiled sympathetically. 

“I’ve got a bottle of Blishen’s Firewhisky somewhere if you’d like…” 

“Fire whiskey?”

“It’s magically produced. Powerful stuff. My brother sent me a bottle for my birthday…”

Newt flipped another switch on his case and let it fall open. The Inspector’s eyes widened as saucers as he watched Newt’s arm disappear into the case up to his shoulder. Newt wrinkled his brow in concentration as he fished around. There were some bangs and clinking noises as he shifted things about, until finally with a victorious smile, he withdrew his arm to reveal a glass bottle with a bright red label. It was decorated with sparks that danced and glistened, and proudly proclaimed: _Blishen’s Firewhisky - Premium Highlands 39-year Scotch Whisky._ It was mostly full with a rich brown liquid.

“I prefer Ogden’s myself, but my brother thinks this one’s superior…” Newt paused pensively as he pulled a glass out from his case and set it on the Inspector’s desk. “Hmm, Ogden...I wonder if they’re related to Dr. Ogden perchance” He absently waved his wand, and where there had been a single glass on the table, there now sat five. The bottle lifted itself and poured a measure, which then floated over to the Inspector, who cautiously poked at the levitating glass. 

“Detectives? Constable?” said Newt as he grabbed his own serving from the air, “Can I tempt you?”

“Yes please!” said George excitedly.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Watts with a grin, “I believe it was Mark Twain who said “Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.”

They all looked at Murdoch expectantly. Murdoch shook his head awkwardly.

“Come on man, don’t be a teetotler,” said the Inspector. 

Murdoch quietly beseeched the good lord for patience, then replied “No. I thank you.”

“It’s magic whisky, Murdoch. I think you can make an exception.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” 

“It’s very strong stuff,” said Newt seriously, to the Inspector, “They don’t call it firewhisky for nothing.” 

The Inspector sniffed it suspiciously, Watts swirled around his glass a bit before taking a sniff as well. 

“What should we toast to?” asked George excitedly.

“Magical whisky?” asked Watts. 

The Inspector chucked.

“To magical whisky,” he said. They clinked glasses and took a swig.

George coughed, Watts and Newt spluttered. 

The Inspector grinned broadly, “This is exquisite!” 

“Fire-whiskey is a name most appropriate,” said Watts hoarsely.

“Yeah, personally, I find Ogden’s smoother on the way down. This truly feels like fire,” said Newt with a smile.

“This is the first magical thing I can get behind,” said Brackenreid. For the first time he did seem relaxed. Then he looked again at Scamander as if seeing him for the first time.

“Now, who the bloody hell are you, and how do you fit in with all of this?”

Newt looked up from his drink quickly, “Newt Scamander, Inspector. I’m just passing through. I’m a zoologist specialising in magical creatures.”

“Mr. Scamander is assisting us in our inquiries,” said Watts, while George nodded feverishly.

“And you’re one of these witches the Barebone woman is talking about?”

“Yes and no...technically, I’m a wizard. Witches is a term we use for women, wizards for men. Miss Barebone’s view of the world is rather flawed - corrupted by hatred and fear. We’re just ordinary people. We’re not evil devil-worshipping heathens. We’re normal humans... butchers, bakers, candlestick makers...teachers and shopkeepers...We’ve got government officials we complain about, newspapers we read, radio programmes we listen to, we’re just like you, except, we’ve got the ability to perform magic.” 

“Well let’s see some more of it then.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sir, do you really think this is a good idea?” asked Murdoch quickly. 

“Murdoch, I think it's an excellent idea. The world’s just got batty. I need proof I can see with my eyes. What can you do? Give us a show.”

Newt looked a bit like frightened deer. He glanced at George, who was grinning broadly, and then he glanced at Murdoch who looked decidedly uncomfortable. Lastly, his gaze fell on Watts, who smiled at him warmly. 

Newt felt as if he drank some liquid luck potion. He smiled back, rolled up his sleeves, and scratched his chin pensively. Then he waved his wand and turned the Inspector’s desk into a brown pony. 

“Bloody hell!”

Newt’s crooked grin was infectious. The pony huffed and pawed the ground. He waved his wand again and a small flock of tiny multi coloured songbirds poofed into existence. They fluttered around the office, performing some impressive aerial acrobatics, and spelling “Hello There!” over the Inspector’s Head,

“Inanimate to animate transfiguration is one of my specialties,” said Newt with a grin, before waving his wand again. With a small pop, the birds vanished and the desk was back to normal.

Watts was staring at Newt open-mouthed. “We will need to discuss the implications of this - life generated from nothing! What does this mean about consciousness? Did the Inspector's desk think itself a horse? Did it experience hunger and thirst and develop a sense of self!? Did it actually become a pony or was it just made to look and act like one...-“

“That’s a complex bit of theory, one of the larger debates in the transfiguration community-“

“Can we see something else?” Interrupted the Inspector excited as a child.

“Yes, Mr. Scamander! Let’s see the protection charm you mentioned earlier - The patronus! The one you used to defeat the lethifold,” offered George. 

Newt hesitated, “The patronus is an impressive and complex bit of magic. It’s a protective shield of positive energy that, when casted correctly, takes the form of an animal that best represents the caster.”

“Well, let’s see it then!” said Brackenreid excitedly.

Newt nodded, a little nervous. He went through a period of time after the war in which he could not cast the patronus charm at all. He momentarily felt the pain and depression that sometimes lurked just below the surface threatening to bubble up. 

He took a breath and closed his eyes and pushed the feelings out. He thought of the joy he felt on his travels. The freedom, the wonder. He thought of Orlaith, healing in his suitcase, of all his creatures and the love he felt for them and he felt his heart swell. And then, another image came to his mind unbidden. Watts’s smile, and his warm eyes...the way they lit up as he spoke. He thought of Crabtree and his kindness, and Dr. Ogden’s fierce intelligence, and Murdoch’s dedication, and Queenie’s laugh, and though he’d only known them a handful of hours, he felt more at home with these relative strangers than he ever had before. He grinned and said “Expecto patronum!”

Without opening his eyes, he could sense the glowing form taking shape. He opened his eyes to find his corporeal patronus dance about the room.

“What is that?!” asked Murdoch incredulously.

“Is that a bloody _kelpie?!”_ asked the Inspector. 

“Yes,” said Newt simply.

The Inspector looked at him carefully, as the ghostly kelpie leaped and flipped about the room like an excited dolphin, “You mean to tell me that the animal that best represents you is a murderous water-horse?”

“It’s actually a shape-shifter, though it _does_ most often present itself as a horse. Free-spirits, but once they make connections, they’re fiercely loyal to those they care about. And they’re not murderous...they’re carnivores. They kill to eat. There’s a difference.” 

“They kill people.”

Newt shrugged... “Not really, not specifically...I mean, they go after large mammals...and they can be dangerous, but the trick to any creature is to know how to calm it. If you bridle a kelpie, it becomes docile as a domesticated horse.”

The Inspector scoffed.

Newt paused, puzzled as the kelpie playfully butted his head against Newt’s shoulder. Newt reached out as if to pet it absently, his fingers passing through the animal’s ghostly mane.

“How do you know about kelpies?” asked Newt. The patronus huffed and unsuccessfully tried to steal a biscuit from the desk, its ghostly mouth passing right through the plate.

“I used to visit my uncle in the Highlands all the time as a lad. My uncle taught me well...warned me to be wary by the local loch...any Scotsman worth his salt knows about Kelpies, and is sure to warn others about them too.” 

The kelpie trotted back over to Newt and nuzzled him before disappearing. 

“Well, that was enlightening,” said Brackenreid. He downed the rest of his drink and then looked sadly into the empty glass. “That Mark Twain got it right in one - there’s never enough good whiskey.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Not a moment later, George spotted Queenie’s blond hair, as she entered the office, and he blushed and smiled a lovesick grin.

She was carrying a covered dish in her hands. To Newt’s dismay, she had also brought along her sister, _The Auror._

Newt gave the sisters a suspicious glance as he deftly slipped his wand back into his inner breast pocket. 

“Miss Goldstein, Auror Goldstein...to what do we owe the pleasure?” asked Newt stiffly. 

Queenie’s smile was a little too wide as she met Newt’s eyes and raised her eyebrows.

“I made apple strudel! Freshly baked! I just had to share it with George - you like apple strudel, don’t you, George!” 

George grinned and nodded, “I certainly do!”

Newt’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline, as Queenie beamed and began to uncover the plate.

“Hang on, before we get to strudel, you bloody well disappeared earlier...literally,” snapped the Inspector. Now Queenie turned to him, her smile more forced and she subtly shook her head and nodded almost imperceptibly towards her sister.

Newt looked at her with his head slightly cocked to one side, eyes narrowed.

“What is he talking about, Queenie?” asked Auror Goldstein.

“Oh, just an inside joke, Tina.” 

Tina looked from Queenie to the Inspector to Newt, and finally to George. She took in his grin, and groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“Queenie, please tell me you’re not _involved_ with this muggle.” 

Queenie looked at her angrily and said “And what if I am, Tina? It’s none of your business.”

Tina looked as if she was working herself up into a rage.

Newt interrupted quickly taking pity on Queenie. “I presume you’re here on Graves’s orders, Auror? Unless you’ve got another strudel on your person...or perhaps a Danish?” he said to Tina.

Tina shot him a dirty look, then glared at Queenie one more time before responding. 

“I’m not here on Mr. Graves’s orders. I’m here on my own. I know you’re keeping things from me, Mr. Scamander. You know more about this than you’re letting on. We are on the same side of this situation. I’m only trying to prevent further loss of life. Whatever information you have, I implore you to share it. Lives are at stake.” 

“Could someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on?” snapped Inspector Brackenreid.

Newt glanced at Watts and Murdoch. They both nodded at him.

“We’re dealing with an Obscurus.”

Tina scoffed. “That’s impossible!”

Newt snorted, “It’s the truth. Look at the images of the victims! Look at those markings! There’s only one thing that can cause them.” He pointed at Murdoch’s blackboard where the images of the victims were on display. Tina walked over to the board, and said: “There hasn’t been an obscurus in centuries.” 

“Just because you haven’t seen one doesn’t mean they haven’t existed. I encountered one in Sudan just last year.”

“Can someone please tell me what the bloody hell is an obscure-whatsis?”

“Sir, it’s a parasitic force that feeds on a magical child who has undergone tremendous suffering and abuse,” said George quickly.

“Right. Magical child. Right.”

“It lashes out and kills people and destroys things.”

The Inspector looked about two seconds from having a total meltdown.

Tina looked pensive.

“Abuse?”

“That’s what causes the Obscurus to form. A child rejects its magic in pain and fear, and the Obscurus begins to feed on it. It lashes out, consuming the child as it gets stronger and stronger, until it kills the child, destroying itself in the process,” said Newt angrily, watching Tina warily. 

Tina was miles away. “Those poor children.”

Newt seemed to deflate at her words. 

“It’s horrific, no child should have to suffer that fate,” he said in agreement. 

Tina’s voice was full of emotion when she finally spoke, “The Barebones...those children, I...when we went to investigate the New Salem Society, I saw the boy, Credence. His back was covered in welts. She beat him till he bled, I ran a diagnostic test, he was malnourished and dehydrated, and the wounds...sweet Merlin. The way she treats those children…”

She trailed off angrily.

Watts was staring at her intently, “What aren’t you telling us, Auror Goldstein.”

She glared at him angrily, but deflated quickly.

She looked down at her shoes and mumbled, “I’ve been suspended.” 

“What?” asked Newt.

Queenie looked at him intently and raised her eyebrows. She was trying to tell him something but for the life of him, Newt couldn’t figure out what it was.

“I...when I saw the state of that place, of the children, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I took out my wand to heal the boy, and Miss Barebone went mad. She flew into a rage and attacked me, screaming that I was a witch and that she wanted to kill me. She accused me of killing the Reverend. Rather than obliviating her, I...retaliated with force. If you’d seen the state of the boy...If Mr. Graves hadn’t stepped in to stop me I could have easily killed her. He suspended me without pay. I’m lucky he didn’t fire me outright or arrest me for attacking a muggle.”

She sighed in frustration and Newt felt sorry for her. 

“So you’re not here on official business,” said Watts gently.

“I’m here because it’s the right thing to do. Because I may not be on the case, but I want to help. I don’t want any more innocent people to die. I figured you lot would have continued your investigations despite my warnings, and I thought perhaps I could help. And if you’re right, Mr. Scamander and this is an obscurus, we’re in quite a bit of trouble.”

“We’re racing against the clock to find the obscurial before it’s too late.”

“Is that where you were before, hunting the obscurus?” 

“Ah, about that...we were sort of, but it’s a little more complicated than just that.”

“How do you mean?”

“In the confusion of the explosion earlier today, I lost sight of some of my creatures.” 

“Your creatures? What creatures?” 

“I’m a magizoologist. I have some creatures in my care, and they sort of... got loose.”

“They _got loose_?!” 

“Not all of them! Just a few! And I’ve already re-captured my niffler!”

The Inspector interrupted, “What? Do you mean to tell me that we have werewolves and unicorns running around Toronto?”

“No! Well, if you do, they’re not mine. Just a leucrotta, two billywigs, and possibly my demiguise. Nothing above a XXX rating, I promise you,” he said earnestly.

“Oh, great. That makes things a lot better,” said Brackenreid sarcastically. “Clear as bloody mud. What are those then? Friendly beasts like your _kelpie_.”

“You lost a _kelpie_ in Toronto?!” Asked Tina angrily.

“No! No, it’s...a long story. It’s not real!”

Tina glared daggers at him. It appeared their momentary truce was coming to an end. 

“How do you intend to recapture your creatures?” asked Murdoch quickly. Newt startled, having forgotten he was there.

“Well, I cast a tracking spell earlier, which brought me to Nick. Leslie the leucrotta ran in circles for a while before scampering. Are there any woodsy areas in Toronto? Wide open spaces to run, but with lots of trees and grass to munch on.”

George spoke up quickly, “High Park perhaps?” 

“There’s an idea. George, would you accompany Mr. Scamander there to look for this...creature?” asked Murdoch. 

“Of course, Sir!” 

“I will assist as well!” said Watts, “Shall we head over now?”

“What about the rest of them?” Asked Tina angrily..."The billywigs? And the demiguise...aren’t those invisible? We use invisibility cloaks made of demiguise hair in the auror department.” 

Newt glanced at her again. “They _can_ turn invisible.” 

“So you’re hunting invisible animals in Toronto,” said Brackenreid, sounding vaguely hysterical. 

“I can’t believe you let them loose, Mr. Scamander. You’re breaking a hundred different international laws.” 

“I didn’t set them loose. They escaped. There are no laws against simply crossing borders with magical creatures.” 

“This argument is getting us nowhere,” interrupted Murdoch. 

“You're right, Detective," said Newt finally, "We're wasting time, and time is unfortunately not something we have a lot of. I'll retrieve my creatures, and deal with the obscurus...The billywigs are native to Australia, they’ll be looking for a warm, sunny place with lots of flowers."

“Allan Gardens?” asked Queenie to Tina.

“Perhaps. How do you catch a billywig?” 

“Are you volunteering to help?” asked Newt, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Queenie and I will collect the billywigs. The faster we can retrieve your animals, and take care of this obscurus, the faster you can leave and things can return to normal,” snapped Tina.

Newt looked down at the floor a moment. He nodded once sharply, and reached into his case. He pulled out what appeared to be a butterfly net and a mesh cage filled with flowers. He handed both to Queenie. “Be careful with them...billywig stings can lead to levitation.”

Murdoch choked.

Brackenreid began to laugh. “This is bloody crackers. And what of your invisible beast?”

“Dougal,” said Newt sadly.

“I might be able to help with that as well,” said Tina, “I have an informant who might have heard a thing or two...” 

They all looked at her.

“He’s a confidential informant with his fingers in all the pies of magical Toronto. If there’s anything happening anywhere, he’s the first to know. And if there’s an invisible magical beast causing trouble, he’ll certainly know. I’ll reach out to him. I’ll send word if and when I hear back, once we’ve recaptured your billywigs.”

She began to walk to the door, then stopped abruptly.

“Before I go, would I be able to see the bodies of the victims? I’m curious if there are any magical traces that I can find...”

Murdoch and Brackenreid exchanged a look, and Brackenreid spoke, “Well, if you’re on our side now Goldstein, I don’t see why not.” 

Murdoch stood, “I’ll accompany you to our morgue.”

“I’ll join you!” said Brackenreid quickly, eager to see more magic. 

“Queenie?” asked Tina.

“No thanks, Tina. I’ll meet you at Allan Gardens. I’m not a fan of bodies. That’s why you’re the auror and I’m not.” 

Tina rolled her eyes affectionately and then left with Murdoch and Brackenreid.

Queenie watched her go sadly. 

“Thank you for the strudel, Queenie,” said George finally.

She smiled sadly at him. 

“Shame you didn’t get a chance to taste it yet.”

“I’m sure it’ll be the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten!” he said earnestly.

“Was this what you wanted to tell us?” Newt asked, “That your sister was thrown off the case and she wanted to help us?”

Queenie sighed. 

“When our parents died, Tina raised me. She was like a mother to me. Mr. Scamander, I know my sister like I know my own mind. Better even. Something...something’s not right here.”

“Not right with her?”

“Her thoughts are muddled. Especially having to do with her altercation with Miss Barebone...she couldn’t explain it to me, her mind was in revolutions. She would never attack a muggle like that. Do you think it could have to do with the obscurus? Could it affect her mind?”

“To my knowledge, their attacks are physical, not mental. That is very strange indeed,” said Newt pensively. 

“And another thing,” she said hesitantly, “This has to do with Mr. Graves...His behavior has changed. He’s grown colder, quick to anger, ruder, more distant, and he is utterly obsessed with this case...Tina is so disturbed by it, though she will never say it.”

“People do change sometimes, Miss Goldstein,” said Watts.

“Not like this. I knew before how he felt about Tina, and how Tina feels about him. They were sweet on each other, though they never admitted it. He’s her superior officer...they never acted on their feelings proper, but I could tell…” she smiled sadly.

“Reading thoughts certainly helps matters,” said Newt not unkindly.

“That’s just it, Mr. Scamander...I can’t hear his thoughts any more, and I don’t know what to make of it. I’m worried, and I don’t know where else to turn.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Newt seriously. 

“Thank you,” she replied earnestly, then sighed. “I best be going,” she said nodding at the net and cage in her hands, “See you later?” 

“Yes! Later,” said George. 

“Take Care, Miss Goldstein,” said Newt gently. 

Queenie smiled at them, and before leaving the office.

* * * * * * *

She had once again given Newt quite a bit to think about.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leslie the leucrotta manages some mischief.

**Chapter 13**

It was well into the afternoon, and the heat was, if possible, even worse. 

Watts stopped at a street vendor to purchase frozen snowball treats for the three of them which they happily devoured as they waited for the trolley that would take them to High Park. 

The park was mostly empty in the sweltering heat and punishing sun. The few determined souls that had made it there were sprawled on blankets in the shade, like wilted flowers. 

“I imagine the beach must be very busy today,” said George, “I’ve never seen the park so empty on a sunny Saturday.”

“Understandable...With this heat, I imagine even the bees are taking an afternoon nap,” said Watts.

Newt chuckled and said, “This is most fortuitous for our purposes.” 

George led them along one of the meandering paths past the children’s playgrounds to an area that was mostly trees and vegetation. He paused looking back at Newt and Watts. 

“This is as good a spot as any,” said Newt, and casting a quick glance around, he took out his wand and waved it about him like he was shooing a cloud of flies. 

They watched in awe as a shower of golden sparkling dust fell from Newt’s wand making patterns in the air and on the ground.  
  
Evidently, this made some sort of sense to Newt, for he took off at a run into the vegetation, pausing from time to time to examine broken branches and misshapen bushes.

George and Watts exchanged a glance and followed Newt deeper into the park. 

“Leslie’s been through here,” said Newt excitedly, “Must have been feeling peckish! There were bites missing from the underbrush back there…”

They lost sight of Newt up ahead as he ducked behind a tree. As they made to follow, George’s foot caught on a tree root and he fell to the ground hard. Watts stopped short and doubled back to help him to his feet.

“Are you alright, Constable?” 

“Yes Sir, just a bit winded. And my pride’s a bit bruised,” he said with a bit of a laugh.

Watts smiled, “No need to be ashamed, Constable. The number of times I’ve bumped into, tripped on, or knocked over things... I’m the last person to judge. I’ve been told that in the Yiddish, the word to describe me is _klutz_.”

George brushed his uniform clean from the dirt and debris that clung to him. “I wonder where Mr. Scamander has gotten to,” he said finally.  
  
Watts looked in the direction that Newt disappeared.

“A good question. Shall we look for him?” 

They didn’t have to go much further. They quickly came upon a clearing. All they could see Newt who appeared to be engaging in some odd dance. He had his case open on the ground and was hopping up and down, waving his arms at something. Then he stopped dead, dropped to the floor, rolled over once, jumped to his feet, cocking his head to the side. He stomped on the ground with his right foot.

“What in the world?” asked George. 

Watts and George exchanged a glance, and began to make their way over to Newt, whose attention was still fixed on something they could not see.

“Wait, stay back!” said Newt quickly, but it was too late. George had stepped on a fallen branch that snapped under his foot with a resounding crack. Newt winced. 

A huffing snort from across the clearing made George and Watts turn abruptly.

George paused in his tracks,

“My word. He is one unfortunate-looking moose, Mr. Scamander,” he said in shock.  
  
“That’s not a moose, Constable Crabtree...that’s Leslie, the leucrotta, an herbivorous creature. It looks a bit like a moose, but it’s larger...much, much larger. Its antlers are fiercely sharp. Interesting creatures. Their mouths are gigantic...so big in fact that their teeth don’t start until halfway down their throats! I had to stick myself halfway down to examine their teeth...it makes dental care an absolute nightmare...” Newt squinted carefully, “and I’m not too sure Leslie’s a _he_. At least not right now...they can switch sexes at will, you see...” 

“Unfortunate-looking moose,” said the Leucrotta, sounding eerily like George. It blinked its dark eyes. George felt himself shudder. 

“...and they can mimic human voices,” said Newt nervously. He quickly reached into his case for something.

The leucrotta was staring fixedly at George. Newt looked at him as well.

“Ah, good, you’ve already got a helmet,” he said, and instead turned to hand a sporting helmet to Watts. Watts raised his eyebrows.

“A helmet?” said George nervously, “Why would we need helmets, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt looked at him again, rather confused, “Well, human skulls are not as unbreakable as you might think. Especially when faced with a two-thousand-pound leucrotta - they’re usually not vicious - but during mating season...they can get a bit... _aggressive_.” 

The leucrotta took a step towards George. “Moose,” said Leslie, then stomped the ground and flopped open its gigantic jaw.

Newt smiled sympathetically. “Good sport, Constable. She knows you as _Moose_. Keep Leslie’s attention for as long as you can.” 

George’s jaw dropped, his eyes round as saucers. “Me?”

“Me!” repeated Leslie.

“Just like that, Constable! You’re a natural! Incidentally, staring wide-eyed is the first step in the leucrotta’s mating dance.”

George blinked. Stepping forward, Newt plopped his case on the ground and opened it at his feet, careful not to break eye-contact with the leucrotta. The leucrotta closed its jaw and craned its neck to try to see around Newt to George. It took another step forward, pawing the ground. Then, it stopped and began tapping its four hoofed feet on the ground in quick succession. 

“Yes, she’s presenting as female.” 

“Is that a good thing?”

“Well,” said Newt softly, “In this case, there isn’t really a _good_ or _bad_ , just different levels of aggression.”

“ _Aggression_...And females are…”

“Well, males are more territorial in general, but during mating season females are significantly more...er...forward.” 

Newt stepped backwards carefully, and stopped to stand next to George, placing a hand on George’s shoulder, he said, “Constable, this is very important, whatever happens, _do not move from this spot_ , please.”

The leucrotta snorted angrily, and shouted “MOOSE!” Newt quickly took his hand from George’s shoulder, raising both towards the leucrotta in a universal symbol of surrender. 

George tried very hard not to panic.

“Oh, she doesn’t like me touching you. She doesn’t like that at all…”

“Why me?"

“Well, you snapped the branch. She thinks you’re stronger than me. Perhaps she is attracted to men in uniform,” he smiled weakly to emphasize his attempt at a joke.

George did not appear to find it funny.

The leucrotta huffed again and took another step forward, swaying her head side to side.

“What if she comes charging at me?” asked George, his voice wavering.  
  
“Well, that’s sort of the idea,” said Newt, and he smiled reassuringly.

George looked vaguely green. 

“I suppose that’s what the helmet is for, Constable,” said Watts softly.

Newt stepped sideways away from George as the leucrotta took another step forward. She huffed again, her eyes dark and wide. 

George swallowed hard. 

“Detective?”

“Yes George?”

“If something happens to me…”

“Nothing will happen to you, Constable,” said Newt reassuringly, carefully but steadily creeping sideways to block the leucrotta’s left flank. 

“Of course, but if something does…”

“Think positive, Constable,” said Newt, “...My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice.” 

“A good philosophy,” said Watts with an approving nod, “What will you have me do, Mr. Scamander?” 

“Er...stand on her on the right side...drive her towards Constable Crabtree should she veer off course. Should everything go according to plan, as she steps over my case, _which she’ll have to do to get to Constable Crabtree_ , she’ll be sucked into the enclosure from whence she escaped.”

“And if everything does not go according to plan?” asked George nervously as the leucrotta took another step forward, her fur fluffing outwards, making her look twice as large.

Newt tapped his head sharply.

“Think positively, Sir?”

“Well, yes, do, but also, your helmet.”

George closed his eyes and quietly beseeched any god or gods listening to deliver him. 

The leucrotta took another step forward, but went unnaturally still. She sniffed the air, then turned abruptly with a speed unnatural for her large hulking frame.

She had noticed Watts. 

“Oh dear,” said Newt nervously. 

The leucrotta roared and charged at Watts. He leapt out of the way, and took off at a sprint, the leucrotta took off after him. Newt ran as fast as his legs could take him after the leucrotta. 

“Why did Leslie charge at Detective Watts?” shouted George helplessly.

“She must not have noticed him, his presence startled her, and now she’s rather irate-”

Newt leapt forward and grabbed at the leucrotta’s hindlegs. The creature kicked out like a donkey, and Newt dropped to the floor to avoid the razor-sharp hooves. The beast spun around again, to face Newt, swiping Watt with his massive antlers. 

Watts hissed in pain but kept moving.

“Detective, leucrottas cannot turn their necks, so try to always try to stay behind Leslie.” 

Watts stopped in his tracks, and backed away further. “That’s it, keep backing away.”

“What about you, Mr. Scamander?” 

The Lucrotta roared and tilted his head forward, pointing his incredibly sharp and deadly-looking antlers in Newt’s general direction.

Newt smiled weakly. 

“I have a plan, Detective...Constable, can you toss my case this way? Quickly please.” 

George scrambled forward and flung the case towards Newt, just as the beast began to charge at lightning speed. 

George looked positively horrified, Watts shouted, “MR. SCAMANDER!” 

“ACCIO!” roared Newt. 

Watts and George sprinted towards Newt. Neither were sure what they would do, but they had to do _something_. 

The case shot towards Newt’s outstretched hands. He flung the case to the ground just as the creature was on top of him. 

Time froze. Or perhaps just the leucrotta did? It appeared suspended in midair, its antlers mere millimeters from Newt’s body. Then like smoke before a vacuum chamber, the leucrotta was sucked into Newt’s case. 

Newt fell forward slamming it shut, pinning the case with his torso before locking it carefully. He scrambled, checking the case against the ground with his knees, then conjured a leather strap to belt it shut for good measure. Then he sat on the case putting his face in his hand and laughed weakly. 

It all happened so quickly.

Watts and George reached him and stopped short. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Scamander?” asked George. 

“Please, call me Newt.” He took a steadying breath, then said “There are some experiences you can’t share without becoming friendly, and taking on a rampaging hormonal leucrotta is certainly one of them.” 

Watts chuckled, “Ah yes, that’s in The Bible, I believe.”

George smiled, “Yes, Corinthians wasn’t it?…Well then, Mr. Sca- I mean, Newt, call me George.” 

Newt glanced up at them, a dazzling smile on his face, then froze. Then his smile melted. 

He gasped, and scrambled to his feet, “Detective, you’re hurt! I’m so sorry!”

“It looks worse that it feels, I assure you,” said Watts.

“Let me be the judge of that,” said Newt. There was quite a bit of blood. He lifted Watts’s jacket gingerly, and grimaced. 

“This needs to be looked to urgently,” said Newt.

“Do you think you can make it back to the trolley, Sir? We can head to the morgue and have Dr. Ogden look at it...” said George nervously.

Watts nodded bravely, but he was looking rather pale now that the adrenaline had worn off. Red rosettes of blood were rapidly spreading across his suit jacket. 

“It’s too far. You’re losing quite a bit of blood. I have first aid supplies in my case...I could tend to it... 

This isn’t the most sanitary place for medical treatment, but…”

“My boardinghouse is closer than the Station House, and far more comfortable than the park,” said Watts, his voice weak.

Newt looked about to argue, but faltered at Watts’s determined face. 

“Can you do that apparition thing?” asked George.

“I need to know where I’m going,” said Newt nervously, “It has to be a place I’m familiar with or can visualize.”

“If you can get us to the alley by the jewellers where you brought us last time, I should be fine to walk...it’s only a few streets away from my boardinghouse.” 

Newt nodded. He slipped one arm under Watts’s uninjured arm and held the other out for George to grab on to. With a sharp crack, they found themselves back in the deserted alley.

Watts did not look too well, but Newt begrudgingly allowed Watts to lead the way.

They’d made it about halfway up the alley before Watts stumbled, and Newt carefully caught him. He slipped his arm back under Watts's uninjured arm to support his weight. George looked on nervously. 

Finally by sheer willpower, they arrived at Watts's boardinghouse. 

Watts paused at the front door, and turned to George, “Run ahead to the Station House. Tell Detective Murdoch that we successfully captured another creature, and see if he has heard anything from the Goldsteins.”

“Are you sure, Sir? I’d rather stay to help if you need it.”

“I’m sure. I’m in good hands with Mr. Scamander, I wager no one else in Toronto would be better at treating a leucrotta injury.”

“Very well, Sir. If you insist.”

George looked at Newt desperately.

“He’ll be alright, George. I’ve treated worse.” 

“Don’t worry, George...worrying means you suffer twice,” said Watts with a weak smile. 

George nodded, and began to make his way to Station House Four thinking to himself _Good Grief, there’s two of them._

* * * * * * *

Watts’s room was on the ground floor, at the very back of the boarding house. He fumbled with the key awkwardly, struggling to open his door with his left hand before passing the key to Newt and slumping against the wall for support.

Newt opened the door and helped Watts into the room. Watts flopped down on one of the two hard back chairs at the small scrubbed-top table in the room. He was breathing hard. 

Newt carefully put the case down on the table, flipped a small switch, and then opened it to reveal an assortment of tools, bandages, and bottles. He quickly took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before pouring disinfectant on his hands and wiping them on a clean cloth. He glanced up at Detective Watts. 

Watts had removed his jacket, and was gingerly unbuttoning his shirt, and sliding off his braces. The blood had soaked much of the white cotton along his right arm, shoulder, and part of his chest.

Guilt clawed at Newt’s chest like a particularly irate jarvery.

“I’m so very sorry, Detective,” he said softly, “I never mean for you to be hurt.”

“I’m not! Sorry that is...Think nothing of it,” said Watts decisively. 

Newt bit his lower lip as he fussed with his potion bottles and gathered a piece of gauze from his medi-kit.  
  
“I’m more accustomed to dealing with injured creatures than I am humans, but the theories and treatments are largely the same…” he said to break the tension. 

Watts grinned weakly, showing no sign of his typical awkwardness. “I trust you.” 

Newt looked up at him sideways, his eyes cautious under his fringe. He took in Watts's face - pale, but open and peaceful, sitting in his undershirt in his home. There was something so incredibly intimate about it, that Newt almost blushed. Some of the nervousness must have touched Watts, because he looked down quickly.

Watts swallowed hard. “Would you prefer…” his voice went dry. “Would you rather…” he cleared his throat, “Would it be easier if I removed my undershirt?” 

This time Newt did blush. “Er...Let me take a look.,.”

The wounds and the cuts along his right shoulder and arm looked deep and painful, and were still bleeding profusely. Newt shifted Watts's neckline to glance at the skin on Watts's chest. He almost sighed in relief-those wounds were far more shallow. 

“I think it should be okay.” 

Newt poured some of the purple Wound-Cleaning Potion onto a piece of gauze. He hesitated. 

“This is an antiseptic potion, it’ll sting a bit...” he said softly. Watts nodded, his eyes now slightly amused as he looked into Newt’s with determination. Newt carefully pulled his chair closer to Watts, their knees touching. He gingerly brushed the longest cuts with the potion. Smoke curled up from the wound. Watts sharply took a breath through clenched teeth. Newt immediately paused, “Are you okay, Detective?” 

Watts was wincing, but he nodded. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, “And please, call me Llewellyn.” 

Newt smiled shyly, “Corinthians, right.” 

He gingerly tugged down the neckline of Llewellyn’s undershirt to reach the more superficial wounds on his chest. He quickly disinfected them, trying to focus on his task and not Llewellyn’s warm brown eyes, or the adorable furrow in his brow...Newt closed his eyes and swallowed hard. _Where were these thoughts coming from? Sweet Merlin._

Taking a dropper full of the potion, he began to flush out the deepest wounds. Llewellyn cried out. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Newt with such sincerity that Watts felt rather guilty, “I know it’s horrible, but it’s incredibly important that we get these wounds clean. I promise I’m almost done.” Using a clean piece of gauze, Newt dried the blood and potion from Llewellyn’s arm. He then took a jar of salve from his medi-kit. 

He began applying it liberally to Llewellyn’s wounds, and carefully bandaged as he went.

“This is a concoction of my own creation - it’s a dittany based healing salve. It should fully heal your skin in a few hours.”

The salve was cool and soothing, and Watts felt the ache subside to a faint tingling under Newt’s sure touch. 

He watched in awe as the wounds scabbed over before his eyes, looking days old in only a few seconds. 

Newt resolutely did not meet Watts's eyes as he dressed the cuts on his chest. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and his normally graceful hands fumbled clumsily with the gauze. 

Newt affixed the last bandage in place, and moved to pack his medical supplies, his right hand still clutching a mess of bloody gauze, but Watts stopped him, his hand on Newt’s knee. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Newt forced himself to make eye-contact. There was an unrecognisable emotion in Watts's eyes, and Newt was utterly captivated.

He swallowed, as he felt his heart skip a beat. One, two, three second passed. Neither looked away.

“Your eyes are like a salamander’s,” Newt blurted before he could stop himself. Watts blinked, his eyebrows furrowed in a slightly puzzled expression. He didn’t quite know what to make of that revelation, but his heart swelled at Newt’s awkward frankness. It was adorable. 

“Really?” he said.

Newt blushed scarlet, but he still didn’t look away, “I, I, think they have the most fascinating eyes - like - like- like fire floating in a black pool.” 

Watts felt the blush slowly creep across his own cheeks. He looked carefully into Newt’s pale sea blue eyes. He realized few people ever got to look into their crystal depths, as Newt spent most of his time around humans avoiding eye contact and attempting to disappear. “Yours are quite fascinating as well...like crisp, clean water, Mr. Scamander.” 

Newt blushed, if possible, ever redder. “Please, call me Newt.” 

Watts smiled.

“Newt.”

“Llewellyn.”

Watts leaned forward, and Newt closed the distance between them. Their lips met. 

Newt’s brain screeched to a halt before exploding with the realization that he was _kissing_ _Detective Watts_. _Llewellyn_ , he mentally corrected himself. Then he was lost again in total bliss. 

Finally he remembered with regret that he needed oxygen to survive, and they broke apart, taking a breath with a gasp. 

Newt felt outside of his own body, as he ran the fingertips of his left hand on his own lips. Llewellyn had yet to remove his hand from Newt’s knee - now it gripped him with a bit more force. 

Newt’s heart was fluttering madly, like the wings of a billywig. 

Newt extended his left hand to touch Llewellyn’s dark curls, before slowly slipping it down to come to rest on his cheek, cupping his face. He reveled in the warmth of Watts's skin against his fingertips, the gentle weight of Watts's face as he leaned into Newt’s hand. Watts closed his eyes, turning his head slightly to kiss Newt’s palm, relishing in the touch. 

He met Newt’s eyes nervously, before shooting him a shy smile, which Newt returned, carefully caressing Llewellyn’s lower lip and chin with his thumb. 

They leaned in again to steal another kiss but were rudely interrupted by a sharp knock on Watts's door. Newt abruptly stood and moved away, looking down at the floor. Watts also looked down, willing his blush to fade, internally cursing the poor timing of the visitor. When he finally trusted himself to speak, he called out “Come in,” his voice surprisingly steady. 

The door opened to reveal George, Murdoch and Dr. Ogden. She was carrying a bag of first-aid supplies. “Ah, Detective, Mr. Scamander, I see someone’s beat me to it,” she said with a smile.  
  
Watts looked to Newt, who had his back to them all as he put away his supplies. 

“Mr. Scamander is a man of many talents,” replied Watts to Newt’s back… _and a bloody brilliant kisser_ , he added in his mind. He almost blushed again. 

“Detective Watts is too kind,” replied Newt, “It was the least I could do, considering it was entirely my fault that he got injured.” He finally turned to look at them, his sleeves still rolled up. Then he glanced back down at his hands as he handed a small glass bottle to Watts. It contained a liquid the color of rich red wine. 

“Drink that straight down. I’m afraid it’ll taste rather dreadful, but it’s a blood replenishing potion. It will help to…”

“Replenish my blood?” asked Watts with a small smirk. Was he _bloody flirting?_ Newt almost blushed again.

“Blood replenish potion? That sounds incredibly useful! How does that work?” asked Dr. Ogden. 

Newt didn’t trust himself to make eye contact. He spoke to Dr. Ogden’s right shoulder.

“It’s a concoction of honeywater, pulverized valerian root, nettle leaves, rose petals, dittany leaves, fairy wings, and silverweed extract. It stimulates the production of blood cells in the bone marrow until the body reaches normal blood levels. It’s great in a pinch after an injury with lots of bleeding. Any time you would need to give a blood transfusion, but it's much easier to store than an assortment of blood. You also don’t have to worry about different blood types, and it works on any warm-blooded species with a closed vascular system, obviously open vascular systems are different, as are cold-blooded cre...creatures.” He was rambling. He stopped talking abruptly. He glanced at Llewellyn from under his fringe, and saw that he was smiling warmly at him, his salamander eyes alight with amusement.

He glanced down at his hands, nervously. Realizing that his right hand still had traces of the salve and Llewellyn’s blood on it, he swallowed sharply. “Could you point me in the direction of the lavatory, Detective? I’d like to wash up,” he indicated his hands. 

“Of course,” replied Watts, “If you go out into the hall, it’s on your right, all the way at the end.” 

Newt nodded and made his way out avoiding eye contact with anyone. 

“Blood replenishing potions! Incredible - think of all the lives we could save!” said Julia excitedly. 

Watts stared after Newt. “His healing salve was...impressive.”

Watts lifted the bandage from his wrist, as Murdoch, Dr. Ogden and George gathered closer to see the wound, which continued to heal under their very eyes, the scab and scar fading to look a week old. 

“How extraordinary!” exclaimed Julia. Watts smiled.

“Those seem to be quite a few injuries, Detective. I’m glad the creature has been subdued,” said Murdoch.

“Not as glad as I am, Sir,” replied George quickly. “It was a humongous, vicious, terrifying beast, the leucrotta.” 

Newt reappeared through the door, hands clean, his fringe plastered slightly to his brow - he had washed his face as well. 

He took a look at Watts, who was still holding the vial wistfully, and said, “You should drink that straight away, Detective. You lost quite a bit of blood.” 

Watts nodded, then struggled to uncork the potion vial. 

“Allow me, Sir,” said George quickly, opening the bottle for him.

“Thank you, George,” he said, then looked carefully at the vial, sniffing it cautiously. It smelled rather like nettle water. He glanced up at Newt, and met his sea blue eyes. 

Watts smiled crookedly. With a sudden inspiration, he raised the vial to toast Newt, and said, “Corinthians.” 

Then downed it in a quick gulp.

Newt watched him carefully, a faint smile on his lips. It grew broader as Watts pulled a face and spluttered. 

“I did warn you.”

“That was far worse than I imagined.” 

“Were you expecting fruit juice?”

“Wine, actually. It tasted like...burning rubbish.”

“It’s not _that_ bad...Skelegrow is much worse. I had to take a dose of it in my 5th year after a terrible Quidditch accident - er, that’s a magical sport - I took a bludger to the back, fell off my broom, and had to regrow part of my spine and two crushed ribs....”

He trailed off at their bewildered expressions, realising he was rambling again.

“Regrow-” began Murdoch, but Newt interrupted him, addressing Watts: “Your color is looking better already.” 

Newt was right. The sickly pale tinge was rapidly being replaced with a healthy glow. He collected the empty vial from Watts's hands, his heart skipping a beat as their fingers brushed. 

Watts blushed. 

“He’s looking a little flushed Mr. Scamander - could the potion have given him too much blood?” asked Murdoch worriedly. 

Newt hurriedly backed away and put the vial away in his case. He tried not to blush himself as he quickly responded, “No, no - it’s a - it’s a common side-effect. He should be back to normal in no time.”

Newt fumbled with the latch on his case. 

“We received word from Auror Goldstein - they were able to find your...'billywigs.' We are to meet her informant this evening in…” he choked on his words. “The Magic District!” said Dr. Ogden excitedly. “Miss Goldstein is to meet us at the entrance soon!”

“Perhaps you should stay back, Watts?” said Murdoch with concern in his voice.  
  
“Not at all! I feel right as rain thanks to Mr. Scamander. Besides, I wouldn’t miss visiting the Magical District of Toronto for all the world!” 

“Do we have a moment? I would like to make sure the leucrotta is properly settled before -”

“Yes!” interrupted George quickly, “Please make sure that thing won’t escape again.” 

Newt smiled wryly at George, “For your sake, George, I will make sure of it.” He checked his pocket watch. “Their mating _season_ is over though...'season' is really a bit of a misnomer, it only lasts about 24 hours...you’d find Leslie rather docile right now.”

“With all due respect, Newt, you have a very different threshold for _docile_ than the average person.” 

Newt chuckled, “I suppose you’re right.”

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, leucrottas have a very different reputation in mythology - vicious hyena-looking beasts. I borrowed their genderfluidity (for I hope obvious reasons) & voice mimicking qualities since the lore on this creature is relatively limited in the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> In the Harry Potter universe, leucrottas have been turned into herbivore moose-like creatures, but don't let your guard down so easily - as Monty Python reminds us, "møøse bites Kan be pretty nasti..."
> 
> Anyway, they've finally kissed! Lucky chapter 13


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we visit magical Toronto.

**Chapter 14**

A short while later Newt was making his way north on Yonge Street, past the still-empty City Hall, accompanied by an excited George, Watts, and Dr. Ogden, and a rather hesitant Detective Murdoch.

Watts was lost in his own thoughts. 

George approached him and allowed them to fall back a ways from the rest of the group.

“Detective Watts, are you alright, Sir?” asked George.

Watts looked at George, “Just thinking...some things about this case and life in general...seemed as if they began to make sense, but my mind still needs to work them through…I...” he looked at George again, almost as if he had never seen him before.

“It’s so unfair that you’re required to always address me so formally…as Mr. Sca- er...Newt said earlier, you can’t take on a rampaging hormonal leucrotta without becoming friendly. Hardly anyone has called me “Llewellyn” since my sister - well. In any case...George,” said Watts cautiously, “I hope you know that I've come to consider you a friend.”

“Thank you, Sir!” said George brightly. 

“Perhaps, you could call me Llewellyn? Or at the very least drop the “Sir”...at least when we’re not in a formal setting?”

George beamed. 

He leaned forward conspiratorially and said, “Very well, Llewellyn...Sir.” 

Watts snorted. 

Then they noticed that Newt had stopped walking.

“So you mean to tell me that the entrance to...Magical Toronto...is on Yonge Street?” asked Murdoch, incredulously, “I’ve walked this street thousands of times and never noticed anything out of the ordinary.” 

“You have to know where to look,” said Newt. He stopped on the corner of McGill Street and Yonge Street and looked about him. 

“Mr. Scamander! There you are!” a voice called out.

And they all turned around to find a beaming Queenie and a disgruntled-looking Tina making their way west on McGill Street. 

“I’ve brought you a present!” said Queenie brightly, handing him a tiny box with air holes. 

Newt looked at her questioningly.

“Your friends have been successfully recaptured.” 

“In here?” 

“Shrinking charms, Bunny.” 

Newt smiled in understanding. 

“Thank you! No trouble I hope?” 

“I’d rather not talk about it,” snapped Tina, rubbing her left arm angrily.

Queenie giggled. “It wasn’t bad at all! We found the billywigs napping on a sunflower with a quick tracking charm. We captured them easily. Then, poor Teenie got stung by a wasp.”

Tina rolled her eyes. 

“Shall we crack on?” Then she noticed the rest of the crew, and said, “We’re heading into the wizarding district...I expected you to come alone, Mr. Scamander, not to bring the entire Muggle cavalry along for the ride.” 

This time, Queenie rolled her eyes, before threading one arm through George’s arm, and another through her sister’s.  
  
“Tina, you’re not on duty. Let’s live a little! It’s right through here - Newt, you’ll have to help them, they can’t see it.”

“See what?” asked Watts looking about him in confusion.

“Queenie, stop!” said Tina urgently.

But Queenie ignored her, and pulled her and George through the archway.

“Where did they go?” asked Murdoch in shock.

Newt waved them forward, until they were standing directly in front of the arch, though obviously the three muggles couldn’t see it. 

“The entryway to Toronto’s magical district can be found through the McGill Street Arch. An impressive feat of enchanting, the arch is a stone structure totally imperceptible to any non-magical persons in the vicinity. To enter _Ward M_ (as it is formally known by Toronto’s city planners, though the name is rarely used in the magical community) one need only walk through, under the plaque that reads _Toronto Wizarding District, founded 1793_ .” recited Newt. At Watts’s raised eyebrows, Newt smiled and said “Baedeker’s _Canada Mundane & Magical _, 4th edition.” 

Queenie suddenly reappeared.

“How silly of me, Mr. Scamander! I left you with _three_ muggle passengers! Let me give you a hand.” She linked arms with a still not-quite-functional Murdoch and Dr. Ogden, and shot Newt a wink before pulling them through the archway. 

Newt and Watts exchanged a glance before they both blushed. 

“Oh right, mind reader,” groaned Watts, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Right,” said Newt, “Shall we?” Newt asked awkwardly, extending his arm to Watts. 

Watts glanced down, then looked about him nervously, but the other citizens of Toronto who were out and about on McGill and Yonge seemed to pay them no mind.  
  
“We’re close enough to the arch that I think we’ve entered into its protective wards. There are strong enchantments in this area that render us invisible to the passersby,” said Newt softly, correctly interpreting Watts’s hesitation.

“We’re invisible?” said Watts brightly, suddenly, looking at him.

“To muggles.” 

“And to magical folk?” 

“Ah...No, but...I mean...there don’t seem to be any of those around...apart from me that is…” Newt speaking to Watts’s shoes. Still, he extended his arm again. 

Watts nodded nervously. Then he took Newt’s arm and allowed Newt to walk him through the archway. 

* * * * * * *

Toronto’s Wizarding district was very much what you would expect, if you were familiar with wizarding districts around the world. To muggles however, the onslaught of colors, and fantastical sights were enough to make anyone stop in his or her tracks. 

Watts forgot to let go of Newt’s arm again, to Queenie’s amusement. 

The buildings looked a lot like muggle Toronto, except they were covered with brightly-colored animated murals that moved about like living creatures. Vines of brilliant flowers criss-crossed overhead from the nearby herbology shop. Fairy-lights began to flicker on as the sun began to set. Enchanted signs flashed above the awnings that provided shade to the shoppers as they darted from shop to shop. Owls flitted in and out of open windows, delivering parcels and orders. The place was buzzing with activity. 

George wished he had two more heads like Newt’s runespoor so he could take in all the sights at once! 

Newt smiled as they passed a magical bakery, _Kowalski’s_ , which had beautiful pastries, shaped like magical creatures and plants in the window. 

A group of children ran past them to a shop called _Ontario Quidditch Supplies,_ a large sign in the window proclaimed it was the purveyor of official merchandise for the Haileybury Hammers - “ _The Team that led Canada to victory in the 1922 World Cup._ ”

“Quidditch...You mentioned that you had to regrow some ribs and part of your spine after a quidditch injury?” asked Dr. Ogden.

“Er, yes…”

At Queenie’s raised eyebrows, Newt explained, “I took a bludger to the back…short range” turning to his muggle friends, he explained, “Bludgers are these enchanted iron balls, kind of like bowling balls, that zoom around the pitch trying to knock players off their brooms.” 

“Broomsticks...actual flying broomsticks, like in the stories?” asked George in wonder.

“Yes…”

Queenie smiled at Newt, “I never had you pegged as a quidditch sort.”

“I played for Hufflepuff House for almost five years, at Hogwarts...chaser.” 

“No kidding.”

“What is Hogwarts?” asked Watts excitedly.

“It’s where I went to school. Hufflepuff was my house. We had four houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin, and we all competed in the yearly Inter-house Quidditch Tournament…”

“I can’t believe they allow you to play such a violent game in a school!” said Julia.

“It’s all great fun - no one’s died in centuries, not since 1357, when a referee was killed in a professional quidditch match, but it had nothing to do with quidditch...he was unfortunately hit with a curse in the crossfire when a fight broke out between the two participating teams - let’s just say it wasn’t a very friendly match.”

They walked past the children who were ogling a broom in the window.

Newt nodded at the shop - “I see they’ve got the new Silver Arrow, definitely outflies the Oakshaft 79 and the Moontrimmer - I heard it can hit seventy-five miles per hour!” 

“Seventy-five miles per hour...on a _broom_?” said Murdoch incredulously. 

“About time too! The school’s ancient Oakshaft 75’s were often outpaced by passing butterflies. I favoured the Moontrimmer myself...”

He glanced at the Goldstein sisters, “Did you both go to Ilvermorny?”

Queenie and Tina exchanged a glance and both started to laugh.

“No...Ilvermorny might be the most famous magical school in North America, but it certainly isn’t the _only_ one. There are several in the United States, Canada and Latin America,” said Tina, “Typical attitude for a Brit - assuming they know everything about the _commonwealth_ ,” she smiled to take the bite out of her words. 

“We went to Clements Academy on Bell Island,” said Queenie with a grin, “It’s a small school. We didn’t have houses, but we played a lot of Quidditch as well.”

“Bell Island!?” said George excitedly. 

“Yes...do you know it, Georgie?” 

“Oh, I’ve heard so many stories of that island, growing up in Newfoundland - ghosts, fairies, hags - it’s the most curious place! My aunts took me on the ferry on some summer Sundays - I used to try to look for the fairies in Butler’s Marsh.”

“Most of those stories are to keep muggles _away_ from Clements and the magical communities on Bell Island,” said Tina, shooting George a look.

Queenie beamed and gave George’s arm a squeeze, “I knew there was something special about you from the moment I met you! To think we might have crossed paths as children…our Quidditch pitch was just there in Butler’s Marsh.” 

Tina rolled her eyes at the pair of them... “Come on then…”

She led them up and down streets quickly, past cafes and bars where drinks poured themselves. They had to forcibly pry Watts from the magical bookshop.

Soon the bright and bustling streets gave way to shabbier shops, and slightly seedier-looking company. Tina led them to an alley across from an unmarked storefront. The shudders were drawn and the dark wooden door looked solid.

“Is this where your informant lives?” asked Newt.

Tina snorted, “I suppose you could say that...this is the Wyvern’s Nest...it _was_ an infamous speakeasy at the height of prohibition. Now that it’s mostly repealed, it’s become more of a jazz club. But they’re continuing to serve stronger alcohol than what is legally permitted for a bar to sell.”

“If you know that this has been operating as an illegal speakeasy, why does your department allow it to continue?” asked Murdoch.

“Are there no speakeasies in muggle Toronto?” she shot back.

“Fair point.”

“Besides, the aurors wanted a place to go drink as well. And having someone like Manky Fletcher running the establishment allows us to keep a close eye on Magical Toronto’s seedy underbelly...you might encounter all types in the Wyvern’s Nest.” Tina nodded at the establishment...at the moment, a wizened shrouded figure wearing a balaclava knocked on the door. Two knots in the wood turned into a pair of human eyes which blinked suspiciously before the door swung open a crack to let in the figure. 

Newt nodded absently, “We best be getting to it then…”

He started to make his way over to the Wyvern’s Nest, but was halted abruptly by Queenie.

“Hang on, Mr. Scamander! We _cannot_ go in there looking like this. We will instantly raise suspicion!” She pulled out her wand. 

“What’s wrong with how we look?”

Queenie scoffed.

“Someone just entered wearing a shapeless black cloak...” insisted Newt.

“And were you not instantly suspicious? We need to appear as if we’re a group of young magicals out for an evening of dancing and drinking, not like a group of muggle and magical law enforcement officers…Excuse me, George,” she said, and then tapped him on the head with her wand. George had the an unsettling feeling, as if cool water were pouring down over his head...George’s helmet became a top hat, and his policeman’s tunic dissolved into a fashionable evening suit. George’s eyes grew wide, as he patted himself down. The fabric was luxurious, the cut flattering, the style impeccable. Even his police boots were replaced with a pair of wing-tipped oxfords.

“You look so handsome, Georgie. Don’t worry, it’ll revert back to your uniform tomorrow. I can always cancel the enchantment if needed.” She straightened his already flawless bowtie. George blushed.

George turned to look at the rest of them, grinning like mad. Queenie next waved her wand over herself, and her day dress became an elegant white evening gown, the floaty white fabric embroidered with glistening opalescent beads. She truly looked heavenly.

“Wow...” George was speechless, but apparently his thoughts spoke volumes, because Queenie giggled.

Tina rolled her eyes but complied, waving her wand over herself and turning her sensible work clothes into a fashionable blue gown, with a delicate geometric pattern embroidered into the fabric.

Queenie magicked Murdoch and Watts’s ties into bow ties, and Julia’s dress into a shimmering emerald evening gown, and her hat into a matching feathered headband. Murdoch looked at her open-mouthed. 

“Julia, you...you look...beautiful.”

Julia laughed, “Thank you, William.”

Newt shook his head grinning to himself, but he complied, and with a wave of his wand, his clothes became darker, more eveningwear ready, and as an afterthought, he turned his red bow tie black. 

Queenie nodded in approval. She linked arms with George, “Come on, Georgie, let’s paint the town red.” 

And she led them to the _Wyvern's Nest_. 

She knocked on the door, and winked at the eyes that appeared in the wood. The eyes winked back, and the door swung open. 

* * * * * * *

The Wyvern’s Nest felt a wee bit dodgy. There was no other word for it. There were clearly dealings of all sorts happening in the shadowy corners. Newt could see a hag shaking hands with the cloaked figure in the balaclava, and in the other corner, some mobster-looking wizards were exchanging what was almost sure to be illegal potion ingredients and vast quantities of money. Newt held his case a little closer and he looked about himself warily.

Yet at the same time, it was fantastic. Loud, dark and smoky, it was the quintessential jazz-age locale, filled with the mix of exuberant frenetic festiveness, wild partying and typical scenes that would would expect to find at a speakeasy-turned-jazz club. 

Still, a lively jazz band was playing on a raised dais, and the romantically-lit dance floor in the middle of the establishment was filled with joyous members of the Canadian magical community, letting loose and enjoying a Saturday night. The witches’ multicoloured dresses flashed about as they danced, reminding Newt of tropical fish in the ocean, or vibrant birds in flight. He watched transfixed, until the song came to an end, and the dancers applauded. The piano-player wiped his brow and grinned. A sleazy-looking wizard stepped out into the spotlight, raised his wand to his throat and his voice boomed out over the dancers. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! A warm welcome to those of you joining us for the first time, and a welcome back to you regular debauchers. We’ve got a real treat for you tonight - all the way from Harlem, the hottest new jazz band, Duke Ellington and his Serenaders. Playing live! Right here in Toronto’s very own - Wyvern’s Nest. Give them a warm Toronto welcome, on this hot summer night, and keep those drinks a’comin', folks, as you dance the night away.” 

The Wyvern’s Nest was filled with a roaring applause, as the band grinned madly. They re-settled in their places, and began to play.

“Let’s dance...we’ve got to look like we belong here. We can’t all stand out,” said Queenie with a grin. She dragged George to the dancefloor, calling over her shoulder, “Doctor? Detective?” 

Julia smiled at Murdoch, “Shall we, William?”

“I don’t know, Julia...I”

“I’ll lead,” she said with a grin and a wink, and she pulled him to the dance floor.

Duke Ellington began to sing -

_“I don’t need love potions_

_Or bewitching charms_

_Just so long as I’ve got you_

_Wrapped in my arms._

_Oh baby, can’t you see?_

_Your love is magic to me.”_

Newt glanced at Watts, who was looking over the dancefloor wistfully. Tina elbowed them both and nodded towards the bar. “Fletcher is waiting for us,” she hissed at them. They followed her towards the bar.

_“You can keep your talismans_

_And your enchantments too_

_‘Cause the only enchanting thing_

_In life for me is you!_

_Oh darling, don’t you see_

_Your love is magic to me”_

They found themselves in the company of the dodgy emcee who shook Tina’s hand with a shark-like grin. He ordered them butterbeers, and accepted a wad of cash from one of the mobster-looking wizards who nodded politely to him before leaving the Wyvern’s Nest. 

“On the house, Miss Goldstein,” with a wink, and led them over to a table in the shadows. 

The musical interlude gave way to the song’s final verses - 

_Who needs a wand,_

_Or herbology_

_When you’ve got a love_

_As sweet as can be._

_So take my hand_

_And come away with me._

_Just you and I, love_

_Pure magic it will be_

_Oh, darling don’t you see?_

_Your love is magic to me!_

Manky Fletcher waited for the roar of applause to die down, grinning madly. Only when the next number, a fast-paced instrumental _Charleston,_ began did he turn to look at them all. 

“Well Miss Goldstein, it’s always a pleasure. I hear you have some questions for me…unofficially of course, as officially, you’re _suspended_ from the auror office, are you not?”

“H-how did you know ab-”

“My dear, it’s my business to know.”

Tina blinked and swallowed. Watts shot him a calculating look. He did not like Manky Fletcher one bit.

“We’re looking for some creatures that might have gotten loose in Toronto, Mr. Fletcher.” 

“Manky, please…” he looked at Watts carefully, “I know Porpentina Goldstein - and I’ve heard of Mr. Scamander by reputation, but...I’ve never seen you in these parts before.” 

“I’m new,” said Watts dismissively. 

“Uh-huh, and you are…”

“Eager to find these creatures as soon as possible, and curious as to what information you might have for us.”

Newt smiled. Tina looked on in approval. 

Manky laughed. “Well, played.” He turned to Newt, “Mr. Scamander...I know you’re not familiar with me, but if this has to do with magical creatures, I assume you’re involved. A little-itty-bitty-pixie told me that you’re here writing a book on _creatures_. I have some information that perhaps can be of use to you...but everything comes with a price.”

Newt snorted, but he reached into his jacket for his money pouch.

“No, Mr. Scamander, you misunderstand me. I don’t need gold, I’m practically drowning in it.” He tapped his pockets which jingled to punctuate his words, “What else d'you have to offer?”

“What else could you want?” asked Newt.

“Information is worth a helluva lot more than gold. Or if you’ve got anything else you’d be willing to trade.” 

Newt stared at him with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. If Watts didn’t know any better, he’d think Newt was trying to read his mind. 

Finally Newt looked away. He reached into his case and pulled out a handful of something that glittered silver in the dim light, and placed it on the table for Manky to look over.

“Silver?” he scoffed, “Surely you can do better than that,” and he took a swig of his butterbeer. 

“Occamy shells,” said Newt smugly, “Surely a man of your _caliber_ could recognize something so valuable and rare.” 

Manky choked on his butterbeer. He stared at Newt utterly dumfounded. He pulled out a device that looked a great deal like a jeweller’s loupe which he held to his eye. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said with a laugh, he leaned back in his chair and looked at Newt with a more appreciative expression.

Newt looked very serious, which was a tremendous departure from his usual awkward self. 

“You must be pretty desperate to find these creatures,” said Manky. 

“Mr. Fletcher, we don’t have time for this. I've made you my offer. Do you have information for us or not,” said Newt, his voice quiet, and yet somehow more threatening and terrifying than if he had shouted. 

“Manky please.”

“ _Mr. Fletcher_ ,” he repeated with a raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes.

Manky raised both hands in appeasement. 

“Easy, Mr. Scamander. I’m just curious as to why you’d willingly part with something so valuable for such _trivial_ information.”

Newt remained silent as a tomb. He stared at Fletcher unblinkingly. 

Fletcher's grin melted from his face and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There was something very threatening and unsettling about a serious Newt Scamander. Watts understood in an instant how the man before him could have a kelpie for a patronus, and how he could have travelled the world alone, _liberating_ creatures from violent poachers and thieves. It was positively evident that anyone who threatened or got in the way of someone or something that Newt chose to protect was in _deep dragon dung_ indeed _._

Finally Manky said, “If I were you, I’d take a trip over to Eaton’s Department Store in Muggle Toronto...you know it yes...best to go at night when it's not too crowded.” 

Tina nodded.

“Good,” he said and snatched the occamy shells in case Newt changed his mind, “Pleasure doing business with you…”

“Is that all?” said Newt.

“That’s all you need, Mr. Scamander, I trust you can connect the dots to figure out the rest, now if you’ll excuse me I have other business to attend to."

Manky shuffled to his feet and practically darted away from their table. Presumably to ogle the occamy shells in a dingy backroom somewhere.

Tina turned to look at Newt in shock.

“Where did that come from?”

“Well, as you know, I’m a magizoologist and I’ve spent the past three years in the field. I came upon the occamy eggs-”

“Not the occamy shells, Mr. Scamander - the... _bargaining_...I’ve never seen anyone rattle Manky so much!” 

Newt looked between her and Watts, his expression innocent. “I don’t understand.”

Watts chuckled, “I would never want to cross you Mr. Scamander. Pacifist you may be, but you get your point across very clearly.” 

Newt looked confused, “Fletcher’s a bully. I don’t like bullies.” 

Tina looked thoughtful, “I underestimated you, Mr. Scamander...you fought in the Great War, didn’t you?” 

Newt shrugged uncomfortably, “Didn’t everyone?”

“What did you do precisely?” 

“I was on the Eastern Front...I really don’t like to talk about it.”

“But you were dishonorably discharged?” pressed on Tina obliviously. 

Newt sighed, “I was part of the _failed_ Dragon Division.” 

“Dragons?” asked Watts.  
  
Newt looked very uncomfortable, “Some higher-up had the _brilliant_ idea of sending dragons to the frontlines. They breathe fire, they can be dangerous, they have sharp claws and teeth...so _surely_ , they must be ready-made weapons. What they _completely failed_ to understand is that dragons are not vicious for viciousness sake. They’re vicious to protect their young, or to protect their territory...they use their sharp teeth and claws to hunt for food...they don’t understand the concept of battle...they don’t comprehend our wars. They don’t fight in trenches or follow a general’s orders, they’re wild creatures - you put them in a...a...a hellscape of violence and...and...bombs and destruction, and...they snap.” He stared at his untouched butterbeer in silence. “Those poor creatures were frightened out of their wits and we were brought in...I was brought in to train them...to try to wrangle them to fight on our side...of all the most ridiculous and inhumane ideas. It failed miserably as you can imagine. One of the dragons ate one of our commanding officers when he tried to force the poor beast to fly into enemy mortar fire. The poor creatures were disposed of. We were all quietly dismissed and sent to hospital for a bit...the project was totally scrapped.”

“...He _ATE_ him?” said Tina, utterly horrified. 

“He probably deserved it, he was an ogre of a man,” said Newt bitterly, but then sighed, “Yes. It was utterly horrific. Unspeakably so. This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone about it,” he gestured his hand vaguely towards Tina and Watts, “But I fail to see what my military service has to do with what just happened here.” 

Tina smiled sadly at Newt, “I meant it as a compliment, Mr. Scamander. That took guts and fortitude to stare down a man like Manky.” 

Newt snorted, “I never understand why we as a species put so much value in toughness - in domineering behaviours. It’s easy to be rough and to destroy things...A person’s real value should be measured by the good they do. The healing they bring, the things they build rather than destroy, the compassion they show...that’s real strength. I wasn’t trying to be tough. I just want to find Dougal before any harm comes to him.” 

Tina nodded.

“We best make our way over to Eaton’s then,” she stood up from the table and scanned the crowd for the rest of their party. She caught sight of Dr. Ogden and a flushed-yet-happy looking Detective Murdoch and nodded towards the door. Julia smiled brightly and nodded then began to search the dance floor for Queenie and George. 

“Come along, we’ll meet them outside,” said Tina, and she led the way to the door. Watts looked wistfully once more to the dance floor, the happy couples, and the bright music before following Tina and Newt outside…

...and right into what appeared to be an ambush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to leave it as a cliffhanger! 
> 
> Please leave a review if you'd like. I love to hear what you think of this so far! I've been living with this story in my mind for so long. 
> 
> I have some notes - if you're unfamiliar with Bell Island and its history, please do look it up, it truly is a fascinating place.  
> I always thought it really odd that only one wizarding school existed in all the British Isles - three in all of Europe, and apparently only one wizarding school for all of North America, and it's in the US? What about witches and wizards in Mexico? Do they have to choose to go to an English-Speaking or Portuguese-speaking magical school? Only about 30% of Latin America speaks Portugese, versus the 210 million people in North and South America who speak Spanish. Shouldn't there be Spanish-language schools of magic? Especially considering the rich tradition of magic folklore of Mexico, Central American and the Caribbean. So many missed opportunities! 
> 
> Even in Europe which seems to have a higher number of magical schools per capita compared to the rest of the world...do you expect Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish witches and wizards to...learn fluent French to be able to study magic at Beauxbatons? Or how about how there is only one known magical school in Asia? I'd like to think that there are lesser known wizarding schools peppered around the world, and perhaps British witches and wizards (including J.K. Rowling) do not know about all of them...And Bell Island, with its fairy marshes and fantastical stories is a perfect a place as any. 
> 
> I also was a bit uncomfortable about the scene in the Blind Pig in "Fantastic Beasts" so I rewrote it and made it my own - I'm tired of Goblins always being sneaky money-hungry back-stabbers. Thus Mundungus Fletcher's distant relative in Canada came to be. And the House Elf/Goblin (Idk what she was) it didn't sit well...so I decided to make it a human band, and I absolutely love the idea of Duke Ellington being a wizard. As it is typical in Murdoch Mysteries for historical figures to make an appearance, I couldn't miss the chance of giving him a cameo.  
> As for my attempt at writing a jazz standard...If you want to try and picture what this might sound like, look up Jelly Roll Morton's "Ain't Misbehavin.'" It's not the same melody, but the style is somewhat similar. Also, "Ain't Misbehavin'" is just a brilliant song.
> 
> The next chapter will require some editing before I can post it, but I hope to have it up in the next couple of days. In the meantime, I hope you're all doing well, and staying safe and sane out there.
> 
> Lots of love, 
> 
> Talia


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the underdogs triumph. For now at least.

**Chapter 15**

_Watts looked once more to the dance floor, the happy couples, and the bright music before following Tina and Newt outside…_

_...and right into what appeared to be an ambush._

  
  


They were seized the moment that they stepped out of the Wyvern’s Nest. An auror grabbed Newt roughly, yanked his case from his hands, threw him to the ground and held him at wand point. The wizard standing over him was grinning smugly. 

The wizard who had captured Watts dug his wand a little harder into his throat with a laugh.

“Gilbert, McMorsley, what are you doing?” asked Tina utterly horrified.

“Silence, Goldstein,” came an oily voice from the dark alley across the way. It was Graves, and he was smiling like a kneazle that had caught the canary. 

“Mr. Graves, what is the meaning of this?”

“Do shut up, Goldstein, you’re in enough trouble as it is.” He nodded behind him to some other figures in the alley, one grabbed Tina roughly.

“Now all we have to do is wait for the rest of your muggle friends.”

Newt was thinking furiously...impressive considering the situation.

“They’re not here. It’s just us.”

“Oh is that so, Mr. Scamander?” Asked Graves, approaching him. He grabbed Newt roughly by the collar and forced him to meet his eyes. 

Newt looked back at him defiantly.

Graves let him go and he fell back to the ground. 

“Let’s bring them in,” said Graves disappointedly. And with a collection of cracks, the alley was left deserted.  
  


“Tina!” Queenie shouted as she burst out of the club not a moment later. She had her wand drawn, and her heart was beating madly. “Tina?!!” She shouted again, the panic bubbling into her voice.

“Queenie! What’s wrong?” Asked George as he emerged from the club at a sprint behind her, Murdoch and Julia on his heels.

“Something...something’s happened. Tina’s in trouble...they all are!” 

Queenie covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes began to water. 

George gently took her other hand in his and looked at her with concern,

“What can we do?” he asked. 

Queenie sniffled, and looked into George’s concerned, warm brown eyes. _Oh sweet George, lovely, kind, steadfast Georgie...you are just too kind for this world._ She gave his hand a squeeze.

She swallowed hard, and dried her tears. Queenie steeled her resolve.

“I’m going to rescue them.”

“We’ll help you of course!” exclaimed George.

“Of course!” said Julia.

“How?” asked Murdoch, “From where?”

“I’m working on that,” she said, vulnerable yet determined. She paced for a moment, then nodded to herself.

“Let’s go!” She said. 

“Where?” asked Julia.

“To the CMP...Canadian Magical Parliament,” she said, “I know who took them and where. I just don’t know why...or how. But we’ve got to try…are you sure you want to come along. It might get dangerous...” 

“Queenie, we’re no strangers to danger,” said George kindly. “Besides, they’ve got Detective Watts. He’s one of us...this is personal.” Murdoch and Julia nodded furiously. 

Queenie nodded as well. Then, grabbing hold of the three of them, she apparated away.

* * * * * * *

The first thing that Watts was conscious of was the darkness. He groaned, and tried to move his arms, only to realize he couldn’t. His head was splitting, but he was conscious…

 _‘Cogito ergo sum,_ I think therefore I am...or perhaps in this case, _Sentio dolore, ergo sum conscius_ …I’m in pain, so I think I am awake.’ 

If he could remember his Latin, it probably wasn’t as bad a situation as he feared. He opened his eyes.

He looked about himself. He was in some sort of holding cell with dark stone walls. Heavy iron sconces on the wall held torches which flickered eerily in the dark. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, or how he even slipped into unconsciousness in the first place. There was no sign of Newt or Auror Goldstein. He looked down at the heavy manacles of iron that held him bound to his chair. 

Nope, Latin or not, this was pretty bad.

Unbidden, Newt’s voice came to his mind, “Worrying means you suffer twice,” and he felt a hysteric bubble of laugh threaten to escape. He was out of his depth here. Completely alone, in the dark, watching shadows flicker on the wall...the past 24 hours had been too much. Too much too quickly...Newt had opened his eyes to wonders beyond his wildest imagination, and here he was now like one of the prisoners in Plato’s allegory of the cave. Never before did he understand Plato so viscerally. Was anything of this even real? What the hades even was his life? He was spiraling. His breath was coming in gasps. He forced himself to breathe normally. 

One breath, two breaths, he was alive. Three, four, he was conscious and thinking...five, six, he’d kissed Newt, a _wizard_ ...Newt a handsome young man with curly bronze hair and eyes like the sea...who seemed to understand him intrinsically, who was warm and open, and _kind_...Newt who could be in serious trouble, who probably was in trouble! Seven, eight breaths...he had to get out of here! 

He struggled against his bonds. He realized he was able to slip his hand ever so slightly under his jacket, and he was pleased to find his badge was still pinned in place. Evidently these magicals were not aware of muggle means of lock picking. The thought comforted him. It took him a while to pull the pin free, and god knows how long to carefully slide the pin to the closing mechanism of the shackles. He desperately tried to stay focused and stave off the fear. Finally after what felt like a lifetime, he heard the lock click and his hands were miraculously free. Watts grinned, and then got to work on his ankles. One step at a time. He tried to focus on the task at hand rather than worry about what he would do next...what he _could_ possibly _do_ next. 

Then he heard voices outside the locked door. He stopped instantly, and sat back up, slipping his badge back into his pocket. His heart was hammering in his chest. The lock clicked, and the door swung inwards to reveal one of the _aurors_ who had arrested them. The man waved his hand lazily as he approached Watts, and his shackles fell to the floor. Watts felt the panic return in an instance as all his hard work and efforts came to nothing. 

“Come, _Muggle_ ,” he snapped. He grabbed Watts roughly and pulled him out of the cell door. 

  
  


* * * * * * *

Queenie, George, Murdoch and Dr. Ogden found themselves in a stately office. 

“Where are we?” asked Julia, utterly stunned. 

“This is Mr. Meyers’s office. We’re in the _International Relations and Muggle Liaison_ office of the Canadian Magical Parliament in the Province of Ontario, Queen's Park.”

“Queen’s Park?” asked Julia.

Queenie nodded absently. “Mr. Meyers is currently dining with his French counterpart - The French ambassador for International and Muggle relations. I figured his office would be empty. She grabbed a piece of blank parchment and waved her wand over it, muttering some words.  
  
“Oh, this is very not good - Graves has them.” 

“Isn’t Graves one of your law enforcement officers?” asked Murdoch, confused.

“I don’t know what happened to him, but I don’t think he can be trusted…Wait for me here a moment.” She disappeared with a crack. 

  
  


* * * * * * *

Momentarily blinded by the light, Watts blinked furiously. When his vision cleared, he was somewhat relieved to see Newt up ahead. Newt’s hands were cuffed together behind his back, and he was being half dragged up the hallway by a brutish looking auror.

Newt turned to look at Watts, and shot him what he thought was an encouraging smile, but looked more like a grimace. Watts’s stomach turned - a bruise was blossoming around Newt’s left eye, and he had traces of blood around his nose and mouth. Those _monsters_ had _beaten_ him. 

“Llewellyn, are you alright?” he asked, _the noble fool._..obviously more concerned for Llewellyn’s well being than his own...“Did they hurt you?”

The ogre beside Newt punched him in the stomach and Newt doubled over with a groan, as Watts gasped.

“That’s enough out of you, Scamander.” He roughly pulled Newt to his feet. Newt shot him a look of pure hate. 

“Graves wants to speak to you both.” 

And they found themselves half-dragged, half-carried down the long, unbearably white hallways of what had to be some sort of government building to the aurors’ office. 

They walked past a large circular room which looked to Watts like the magic version of a police station. Paper airplanes and owls were flying from desk to desk and in and out of the room, but they did not enter. They turned sharply right around a corner and found themselves at a door labelled _Percival Graves, Head Auror, Province of Ontario_.

The auror next to Watts knocked sharply on the door.

“Enter!” came Graves’s voice from inside.

He cracked open the door to reveal a large, handsome office decorated in dark leather and mahogany. Graves sat behind a large desk covered in paperwork, his fingers steepled, his chin resting on his hands. Before the desk were three chairs. Tina Goldstein sat in one of them.  
  
“Miss Goldstein…” said Newt, the betrayal evident in his voice, “How…how could you?”  
  
“I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, you have to believe me...” 

“SILENCE!” roared Graves, looking slightly deranged. 

He nodded at the other aurors who roughly forced Newt and Watts into the remaining two chairs. They stood behind them, armed sentinels, watching their every movement.

“You are in a tremendous amount of trouble Mr. Scamander. First and foremost for dragging this _muggle_ into our world...it speaks volumes of your flagrant disregard for the International Statute of Secrecy.” He spat, looking at Watts. 

He stood and made his way around the desk to stand before Newt. He looked at him carefully, then sat down on the desk in front of him, his head cocked to the side, a curious expression on his impassive face. 

“You are a puzzle, Mr. Scamander. Miss Goldstein has explained to me what you’ve been up to here in Toronto…”

Newt looked at Tina, utterly betrayed. She shook her head, eyes wide. 

Graves laughed, “She told me, trying to save both your necks...I knew she was your conspirator all along - I’ve had her followed from the moment I had her suspended for her actions at the Second Salem -”  
  
“New Salem, Sir” interrupted one of the aurors. 

“She wasn’t my conspirator...I don’t have conspirators!” said Newt at the same time.  
  
“SILENCE!” snapped Graves. He still hadn’t removed his eyes from Newt. He laughed cruelly. 

“You are a puzzle, Mr. Scamander. You were thrown out of Hogwarts for endangering human life with a beast-”

“That was an accident,” insisted Newt, “And anyway, nothing happened.”

But Graves continued as if he hadn’t heard him, “Yet your _teacher_ , Albus Dumbledore, argued against your expulsion...why was he so fond of you? What is so _special_ about you? I see nothing worth mentioning. A bumbling fool, and incompetent wizard far too concerned with playing about with animals…what did Dumbledore **_see_ ** in you?” He seemed to reach the crux of the matter. His stare intensified.   
  
Newt felt incredibly uneasy. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Graves. There’s nothing special about me. Professor Dumbledore has always been kind to me, especially after my father died. Perhaps he took pity on me. I don’t understand why you care, though. You’re a Canadian wizard - you’ve never been to Hogwarts...how to you even know Dumbledore? _Why does it matter_?”

“Why does it matter? Miss Goldstein here told me things...told me that you brought creatures into Toronto illegally and set them free…”

“I didn’t-”

“Oh, so it’s another _accident,_ right?” His tone bitter and dismissive.

“Why on Earth would I do that intentionally?” 

  
“To expose wizardkind, to reveal our world to Muggles,” he spat, looking at Watts again, “To spark fear and chaos, to start a Magical-Muggle war, resulting in mass carnage and destruction…”

“I’ve already told you, I’m _not_ a supporter of Grindelwald. You’ve got this completely and dangerously wrong. My creatures have nothing to do with what’s happened-” 

But Graves interrupted, “They’re free and running rampant _because_ _of_ _you_. And then Miss Goldstein tells me something, something so wholly unbelievable that if I did not see it with my own eyes in the case of yours-”

“You didn’t go through my case! Did you hurt my creatures?! They’ve done nothing! They-” 

But Graves continued on. 

“She tells me an _obscurus_ , of all things, is responsible for these deaths. I tell her she’s mad, she’s confounded, she’s bamboozled...there hasn’t been an obscurial for centuries. And then, I saw it. IN YOUR CASE. WITH MY OWN EYES."

Now Tina looked shocked. She turned to Newt, a look of utter betrayal on her face.

“That obscurus...it’s not a threat...it’s not the obscurus that’s running rampant here in Toronto. In my travels, in Sudan, I met a young girl, she was an obscurial, only eight years old...but I made it far too late to save the poor girl. It killed her. I was able to freeze and preserve the obscurus before it dissipated. I wanted to study it, to try to find a cure. It’s just frozen in a moment in time. It’s absolutely harmless…it cannot possibly survive outside of the protective bubble.”

“So it’s useless without a host,” said Graves. Something had shifted in his face. There was a look there of hunger.

Newt started as if he’d been slapped. “Useless?” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head as he looked at Graves, an unreadable expression on his face. Graves’s countenance closed off again, he stood and began to make his way back to his seat. Newt continued undeterred. “ _What do you mean, ‘useless?’_ This is a _parasitic force_ that _killed a child_ that we’re talking about here...what on earth would you _**use** _it for?”

Graves shook his head with a finger to his lips as if to shush Scamander. “You fool no one Mr. Scamander. You brought an obscurus to Toronto, obviously to start some sort of war. You are directly responsible for the death of three muggles, trying to pin it on the New Salem Society-”

“Why are you lying?” shouted Newt vehemently, “You know this isn’t true! Your willful blindness is condemning more people to danger.”

“He wasn’t even in Toronto!” exclaimed Watts, but Graves continued as if they hadn’t interrupted. 

“Mr. Scamander, you are guilty of breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and of attempting to reveal and endanger your fellow wizards…I therefore sentence you and Miss Goldstein, your accomplice, to death.”

“What?!” shouted Tina, her voice breaking. Newt appeared totally flabbergasted.

“I will inform the Magical Prime Minister myself.” 

“You can’t do this!” shouted Watts, as the aurors dragged Tina and Newt to their feet and began to pull them out of the room.

“And Samson,” he said turning to one of the aurors, “Get this muggle out of here. I want him obliviated and returned to the muggle world.” 

Samson nodded and roughly grabbed Watts. Watts struggled.

“Newt! Please!” said Watts. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. Some miraculous save? For Newt to pull one last trick out of his case? He realized with his heart sinking that Newt was wandless. And without his case it was unlikely that he could come up with an eleventh-hour solution. 

Newt looked at Watts utterly horrified.

“Llewellyn...” he said sadly.

It sounded like a goodbye. Watts felt his heart break. Their eyes met for a moment, before they were both dragged apart, out of the room in different directions...Newt and Miss Goldstein to their deaths, and Watts to oblivion. 

The man who called himself Graves stretched in his seat and smiled a predatory grin. It was _too_ easy. Now the next order of business...Find the obscurial. Unleash chaos. Move on to the next town. 

  
  


* * * * * * *

It felt like a year that Queenie was gone, but in reality it was probably only a few minutes. George was pacing around the office nervously. 

“Do you really think they’re in trouble? It’s obvious that they were not involved in the murders and the explosion...” said Murdoch, “Surely even the magical world follows proper police procedures.” 

George looked at Dr. Ogden and Murdoch and sighed. “Sir, after you brought Auror Goldstein to the morgue to look at the victims, Queenie told us that she was concerned about Graves - that he hasn’t been acting himself. He’s grown obsessed with the case, more cruel, more violent. He’s not listening to reason. If Queenie is concerned, I think we should be as well.”

  
Murdoch nodded. Just then, Queenie returned with a sharp crack. She had in her hands, Newt’s case and two wands. “Success! Now all we need to do is rescue Tina, Mr. Scamander and Detective Watts.” She handed the case over to Julia and pocketed the wands. 

“How did you get these?”

“I stole them from the evidence lock-up,” she said sheepishly, then paused, a look of horror on her face. “Oh no!”

“What happened?” asked Murdoch.

“Shh, I’m trying to listen. Tina’s in serious trouble. They all are! He’s going to kill them!” She darted out of the office, the others exchanged a glance before following her. 

  
  


* * * * * * * 

“Gilbert, McMorsley, please. You know me. We were at the Auror Academy together - please don’t do this. We’ve done nothing wrong...This is murder…” 

“Goldstein, this is out of our hands.” 

“Please!” she cried. 

Newt was silent, thinking furiously as he desperately tried to figure out a way to get out of this mess. He tried not to think of Llewellyn. He tried not to think of the potential future robbed of them...or the fact that in a few moments, possibly even now, he would be totally erased from Llewellyn’s mind.

Perhaps it was for the best, that he would not have to go through the pain of loss?  
  
Who was he kidding, that brute Samson’s memory charm would hack at Llewellyn’s brilliant, beautiful mind like a meat cleaver.

Newt felt a sob well up in his chest, but he pushed it back and tried to _**THINK, damn it.**_ Before he could get to Llewellyn, he needed to save himself and Auror Goldstein.

But how?

A sudden inspiration hit Newt like herd of stampeding erumpents. He prodded his breast pocket. Pickett slowly poked his head out. He was trembling in fear, but he looked up at Newt with determination in his intelligent beetle-eyes and winked. Newt smiled sadly down at him.

They arrived at the execution chamber, a sterile, white room. In the center, there sat a metal chair with numerous metal shackles and restraints. Presumably, they would each be bound to the chair, and - what? 

Gilbert waved his wand, and the chair sizzled with killing-curse-green light. Oh. Great. Well, that answered that one.

“When I say 'now',” whispered Newt almost inaudibly in Tina’s ear, “Fight like your life depends on it...it very much does.” 

“Ladies first,” said Gilbert, and he dragged Tina to the chair. Tina was crying. She looked at Newt disbelievingly. 

He nodded in what he hoped was a comforting manner. With Gilbert’s and McMorsley’s attention on a sobbing Tina Goldstein, only Newt noticed the brave little bowtruckle steadfastly crawling up McMorsley’s arm.

Bowtruckles are considered “XX” rated beasts, according to the International Classification of Magical Creatures - harmless and domesticable, proving that while wizards are powerful, they have a tendency to overlook those they perceive as weaker or lesser than them.

Most see bowtruckles as little more than magical insects. Many in the wizarding world know that bowtruckles tend to live in trees whose wood is of fine wand-making quality.

Few know that they they're rather clever little creatures who can can pick locks and perform any number of delicate tasks.

What all, save for maybe Newt, _don’t_ know however, is just how deep their connection to wand wood runs. And McMorsley _certainly_ didn’t know that a determined and loyal bowtruckle whose _friend_ was being threatened with death, would do everything in his power to protect him, including, but not limited to, _taking control of the threat’s wand_.

Because of his ignorance, McMorsley didn’t know what hit him when his wand spontaneously caught fire in his hands. As he shouted and dropped the mini-inferno to the floor, he was immediately assaulted by miniscule razor teeth and tiny fingers, sharp as splinters as Pickett leapt at his face. 

“NOW!” Newt shouted, as he kicked McMorsley hard in the back of his knees. Pickett continued to claw at McMorsley's face.

Utterly discombobulated, McMorsley fell to the floor. Gilbert, momentarily distracted by McMorsley’s shout, turned around to see what was happening behind him. The moment he turned his wand from Tina to Newt, Tina was upon him, once again proving that misplaced hubris is many a Wizard's downfall. 

Considering his work complete, Pickett leapt to Newt’s outstretched arm as Newt spun around to find Tina had successfully wrestled Gilbert’s wand from his hands. 

“STUPIFY!” She shouted, and Gilbert fell to the floor stunned. She wheeled around, clutching Gilbert’s wand tightly in her hand and was relieved to find Newt standing over a still-dazed McMorsley.  
  
She strode over to them, and cast a silent full-body-bind on McMorsley.

She was shaking with shock and adrenaline, but she smiled at Newt.

“Mr. Scamander, do you mean to tell me that you took down an senior auror with nothing but a bowtruckle.”

Newt grinned, “Newt, please...I think nearly dying together permits us to do away with formalities...and honestly, I had nothing to do with it. That was _all_ Pickett’s doing.” 

The bowtruckle clattered proudly.  
  
“Well, then, Mr. Pickett, I am in your debt. Thank you!” 

Pickett blushed green, then slipped back into Newt’s pocket for a well-earned nap.

Newt allowed himself a breath of relief before announcing, “We’ve got to get out of here...Llewllyn’s in trouble.” 

Tina nodded, “Graves put Samson in control of obliviating Detective Watts. That’s _really_ not good. Samson is a muggle-hating brute,” and she led the way, as they both rushed from the death chamber. 

As they ran, Tina said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sc- I mean, Newt. I never thought Mr. Graves would be capable of this. I’m truly sorry I doubted you.” 

“Think nothing of it. I’m sorry I doubted _you_ , Auror. You’re one of the good ones.”

“Call me Tina. I think you’ve earned it.” Newt smiled, before growing serious again, “Besides, Tina, I’m not too sure Mr. Graves is Mr. Graves at the moment.” 

Tina looked utterly confused, but didn't have time to even question Newt...as they rushed along the corridors hoping against hope to get to Watts before it was too late. 

* * * * * * * 

“HALT!” 

Queenie winced. They’d made it to the auror floor without incident...now it looked as if their luck was running out. Thinking quickly, she muttered “Play along,” before plastering on a fake smile and turning around.

“Mr. Samson! Good to see you!” Said Queenie brightly, "Say, What a fetching suit you have on!" 

Murdoch, Julia and George turned to notice a disgruntled looking wizard in auror robes, dragging a completely devastated looking Watts along with him at wand point. Watts’s eyes went wide at seeing them all there.

 _How?_ He mouthed.

George tapped his mouth and almost imperceptibly shook his head.

“What are you doing here? Miss Goldstein. Who are these people?”

Queenie’s expression was the epitome of innocence.

“Oh, Mr. Samson, this is the Ambassador, Monsieur Vidal!” she said, pulling the name from the recesses of Murdoch’s mind. She hoped he'd get the hint, but continued anyway, “He’s from the _Bureau de Affaires International et Non Magiques_ of the _Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France_. He’s here in Canada on official business. We were just having dinner at the King Edward Hotel with Mr. Meyers when Monsieur Vidal remembered he left important documents behind in Mr. Meyers’s office.” She nodded at Newt’s case in Julia’s hands, hoping he wouldn’t notice it for what it was...after all, the best way to hide something was in plain sight. 

He didn’t of course, because Julia smiled brightly and winked. 

Sampson blushed and straightened his tie.

“Who are the others?” He said in a tone significantly more flirtatious and suave.

Queenie looked at George and Julia before glancing back at Sampson with a conspiratorial tone, “These are Monsieur Vidal’s _attachés_.”

A look of understanding overcame Samson, and he nodded approvingly at Julia as he ogled her up and down. 

It was extremely nauseating.

Julia’s and Queenie’s smiles became more forced. Not that Samson noticed. Then he glanced at George and his eyebrows shot up…

“What... _both of them?!”_

Queenie feigned exasperation…"Of course...They’re _French_.” The unstated “obviously” hung in the air between them.

“Oh. Er...Right. Of course.”

Murdoch cleared his throat awkwardly.

With a sudden inspiration, Queenie continued, “Besides. Monsieur...George Crabearbe is France’s finest auror. He heads their Muggle Relations Division.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Watts nearly laughed.

“Mais oui,” said Murdoch, waving his hand nonchalantly “‘E is ze very best, with ze...how you say…”

“Memory charms,” said Queenie quickly, beaming at Murdoch as she wove the story, pulling ideas from Samson’s mind. 

“Certainement!” said Murdoch.

“Soufflé!” said George. 

Watts winced and glanced quickly at Samson but he seemed to accept it without question. Apparently it wasn’t so much _what_ one said, as it was the conviction with which one said it...especially if the other party is obviously not fluent in French.

“What are you up to, Mr. Sampson?” asked Queenie flirtatiously.

“Ah, Miss Goldstein, bad business...this _muggle_ has learned of the magical world. He was arrested earlier this evening as part of a conspiracy to overturn the Statute of Secrecy.”

“A _Non Magique ... a_ múggle in ze Canadían Magiál Parliament Offíces?! A trávesty! How díd zis happén?” exclaimed Murdoch.

“I assure you, Monsieur Vidal. This sort of thing never happens in Canada. We are committed to upholding the International Statute of Secrecy. This doesn’t change anything about our treaty…” said Queenie urgently, shooting Samson a look.

“Oh absolutely. I’m removing him and obliviating him. The others are to be executed as traitors as we speak. Graves’s orders,” said Samson.

Dr. Ogden gasped, and George looked horrorstuck. Somehow Murdoch kept his cool.

“Oui, Juliette, George, c’est horrible that such _criminels_ exist in the world.” 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Murdoch nearly smiled to himself...after a day of sluggish stupor and shock, his brilliant mind had finally awoken. For the first time in this strange series of events, he knew exactly what was happening, he saw Queenie’s ingenious yet risky plan as clearly as he could see her standing before him, and he was on the same page. “But of course, we do not bláme Cánada for ze áctions of zis criminál. Perhaps Mademoiselle Goldstein, Monsieur Crabearbe would be permittéd to take care of zis trespasser non-magíc...as an act of solidarity, and internationál cooperation?”

“An excellent idea, Monsieur Vidal. We will be happy to, should Monsieur Crabearbe agree.”

"Très bien! George?” 

“Oui! Je suis la nuit,” said George with the confidence of a Parisian-born wizard, and he grabbed Watts's arm roughly. 

Murdoch blinked disbelievingly. 

“I don’t know about this...Meyers ordered me specifically,” said Samson.

Queenie looked at him carefully, then said innocently,

“Of course, but seeing as this situation has now appeared on the international stage...perhaps we might consider being a bit more flexible...Oh! Before I forget...As we were leaving Mr. Meyers’s office, I thought I saw your wife.”

Completely caught off guard by the change of subject, Samson looked at Queenie utterly confused.

“...And?”

“ _And_ as we were heading **_to_** Mr. Meyers’s office, I definitely saw Ruby, _your_ “attaché” walking to your office. Perhaps it is best that you…”

Samson paled, “Oh dear! I best.. well, Mr. Vidal was it? I’m happy to allow your attaché to handle this in the spirit of international cooperation...or whatever. Welcome to Toronto! I best be going!” And he took off at a sprint. 

“I cannot believe that worked,” said Murdoch hollowly once Samson was out of earshot. 

“Me neither, George is convincing a Frenchman as Newt is a criminal mastermind...how did you find me?” asked Watts. 

“Queenie, and a little bit of luck,” replied George, “Are you alright, Sir?” 

Reality came crashing into Watts like a rampaging leucrotta. Whatever high he felt of getting away from Samson was now replaced by the gut-wrenching fear he felt for Newt.

“I’m fine, but Newt and your sister, Miss Goldstein...they’re-”

“This way! Quickly!” interrupted Queenie, and she and the others tore down the hallway. Watts looked after her puzzled for a breath before his eyes widened in understanding and her raced after her as as well.  
  


* * * * * * * 

In the end they collided. Quite literally.

“Tina!” exclaimed Queenie and engulfed her sister in a tight embrace. 

“Newt you’re alive!” said Watts excitedly. He could weep in relief. He longed to embrace him as well, just to be sure he was actually still there and in one piece. Instead he contented himself with grinning like a madman. 

“Your memories…” started Newt happily. 

“Intact! Queenie saved me. Along with Monsieur Vidal, Auror Crabearbe and...Juliette?” said Watts indicating the rest of their rescue party with a wave of his hand. He realized he was giddy and sounded perhaps a bit manic. He didn’t care. “However did you escape?” 

Tina and Newt exchanged a look.

“Pickett was the real hero of the story,” said Newt with a grin to rival Watts’s. 

Pickett popped his head out of Newt’s breast pocket and waved enthusiastically. 

“You’ll have to tell us what happened…” said Murdoch weakly, though he and Julia were also relieved to see their friends alive and well. 

“I will, but first, we need to get back my case, and our wands…” 

“You mean this case?” asked Julia with a grin, holding Newt's case aloft. 

“And these wands?” asked Queenie innocently, pulling them from a nearly invisible pocket in her evening gown. 

This time Newt did laugh, rather hysterically. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. 

“Don’t mention it. Really - cause we’re still in a bit of trouble here…” said Queenie seriously. 

“How are we going to get everyone out of here undetected?” asked Tina, “Newt and I are now wanted by the Canadian Magical Parliament…” 

Queenie grinned deviously and said, “I have a plan!”

* * * * * * * 

Not five minutes later, Queenie was quickly but steadily walking across the atrium of the Canadian Magical Parliament of the Province of Ontario. She had almost made it to the door when she heard a voice call out to her. 

“Miss Goldstein?”  
  
Queenie turned around to see Graves making his way across the lobby from the entrance. Queenie gulped internally, but smiled innocently. 

“What are you doing here so late on a Saturday?”

“Hello there, Mr. Graves. Say, I like your tie. So fashionable as always! Mr. Meyers is meeting with the French Ambassador - we were dining at the King Edward Hotel when Mr. Meyers realized he forgot some _very_ _important papers_ in his office,” she said conspiratorially, throwing in just enough exasperation to make it convincing. “ _Of course_ , he sent me to retrieve them,” she said nodding at Newt’s case. “I just hope I make it back before dessert is served. I hear they make the _best mille-feuille_ this side of the Atlantic. With fresh boysenberries…” she could tell the exact moment he tuned her out out. Self-important men often did when she spoke, which she often used to her advantage. In any case, he no longer considered her a threat. “...and, their Chantilly cream is to die for...Have you ever been, Sir?” 

“Very nice. I best be off, Miss Goldstein, much to do.” She watched him cross back across the lobby and to the lifts with a self-satisfied grin before walking the rest of the way out to the main doors, her head held high.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -My Latin is horrific, and I'm in nowhere near as much danger as poor Watts was at the time. I have no excuse. Hopefully the joke came across. If it's glaringly wrong, and your Latin is better than mine, and you are so inclined to assist me in fixing it...please let me know. 
> 
> One of the things I love so much about Murdoch Mysteries and Fantastic Beasts is that the characters are such atypical heroes. They're endearing & real-feeling...they're awkward underdogs with hearts of gold, who against all the odds just keep trying to do the best they can in the world. I struggled with this chapter because it was hard to make them suffer. 
> 
> Queenie is an absolute hero. I hate what they did to her in Crimes of Grindelwald. What a disservice to a brilliant character. 
> 
> I brought in some references to "Murdoch Sting" and "The Spy Who Loved Murdoch" - two absolutely brilliant episodes in my humble opinion. 
> 
> The next chapter should be up in the next couple of days. Please review if you can! I love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> All my best, 
> 
> Talia


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dougal is found.

**Chapter 16**

It was a very satisfied Graves that apparated from the Canadian Magical Parliament to the alley behind the New Salem Society. The crack of his apparition echoed loudly off the surrounding buildings. He didn’t care. Not anymore. 

He was so close. He just needed to figure out which of the waifs and strays that hung around this _dump_ seeking meagre scraps to fill their bellies was _his_. His weapon. His key to hurting Albus Dumbledore once and for all, and the linchpin in his plan for world domination. 

He could not have imagined a better turn of events. By now, Scamander and Goldstein were dead, the muggle obliviated, Meyers occupied with the French Ambassador the rest of the evening, and Graves’s loyal aurors wouldn’t even _think_ to question what happened...not until it was far too late. 

He only needed his obscurial. 

He strode up to the door, and opened it with a wave of his hand. Mary Lou Barebone was overseeing Modesty, Credence and Chastity as they served soup to the street children. 

“What do you want?” she asked Graves sharply.

“I need to speak with your son, Miss Barebone.”

Credence froze, ladle halfway between the pot and the bowl of the child before him. 

“What do you want with him? He and Chastity already identified my poor cousin for you people,” she said angrily. 

“Calm yourself woman! We have further questions for him. Mr. Barebone?”

Credence carefully put the ladle back into the pot, then looked desperately at Mr. Graves. He glanced over at Ma who was watching him particularly viciously. Credence hesitated, realizing that no good would come of this moment, but Mr. Graves grabbed Credence roughly by the arm and dragged him outside to the alley. Ma followed to the door. 

Credence looked over his shoulder at Ma’s murderous look. 

They stepped outside into the balmy night air. Graves led him further up the alley, away from Miss Barebone’s prying eyes, then he cornered him, trapping him against the wall of the alley. 

“Well, Credence, my dear boy. What have you for me? Have you found the poor child yet?”

“N-n-no, Sir,” he whispered. “I haven’t been able to find them yet.” 

He saw a dark expression pass behind Graves’s intense eyes and felt himself shudder. 

“Credence, I am disappointed...I thought you believed in me, I thought you wanted to come away with me…”

“I do, Sir. I really, really do.” 

“And yet, I ask you for something so simple, so small, and you fail to do it...it makes me think that you don’t care, that you’d rather stay here with your mother.”

“She’s not my mother,” said Credence, his eyes tightly closed as he felt the panic, fear, and rage all warring inside him, threatening to bubble out. He tried to breathe, tried to _think._

“You say she’s not, and yet, you seem to want to stay here with her…I wanted to make you great, Credence, to make you my special boy, my son, my protégé. Yet, it’s very easy for me to leave you here if it is what you so desperately wish. I only wanted what is best for you, but I want you to be happy Credence...if you wish to stay here...” the man who called himself Graves pulled away from Credence as if to walk away. Credence began to cry.

“I don’t! Please, Sir. I want to come with you. Please, take me away from this place.” 

Graves grinned predatorially. He strode right up to Credence, who flinched away. Graves laughed. "There is no need to fear me, my boy." He extended a hand and cradled Credence’s face. Credence leaned into the physical contact, having never been shown any affection in his life. He was delirious with it. 

“My boy, time is running out. The child is dying.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sir. Please. Give me another chance.”

The man who called himself Graves pulled Credence into an embrace, and Credence sobbed.

“My boy, the sooner we find the child, the sooner we can leave this pain behind. I have a gift for you, my boy.” He pulled away from the boy who stared at him wide-eyed. No one had ever given him a gift before.

The man reached into a pocket and pulled out a strange symbol on a silver chain. The symbol was cool to the touch, and unlike anything the boy had ever seen before - a triangle with a circle inside of it, bisected by a vertical line. 

“This is a very special talisman, my boy. I would trust very few with it...but you, you are special.” 

He slipped the chain over Credence’s head, then tucked the chain under his collar, and rested his hand over Credence’s heart, directly over where the symbol hung against his chest. 

“Keep it hidden away from sight. When you find the child, touch this symbol with your hand, and I will know. I will come to you and rescue you both from this place. Do not forget what I said, my special boy. We are looking for a child of immense power, younger than twelve years of age. Suffering immensely. Secretive. Afraid. Prone to attacks of magic...The faster you find the child, the faster your suffering will be over.”

“I will, Sir.” 

Graves smiled again, then kissed Credence on the top of the head. Then he walked away up the alley and vanished from sight. 

With renewed determination, Credence returned to the New Salem Society, for what he hoped would be the last time.

* * * * * * * 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the mood in Newt’s case was celebratory. It’s inevitable, when one faces near certain death, to be overwhelmed with joy to be alive. 

After Queenie’s confrontation with Graves, she apparated back to the small flat that she and Tina shared. When she rejoined them in the case, she was met with uproarious applause and cheers. George took her hand grinning madly, and Queenie took the opportunity to kiss him fiercely. 

Murdoch raised an eyebrow. Julia whistled, and they broke apart sheepishly. 

Newt quickly checked on his creatures to make sure none had been harmed by Graves and his aurors.

Queenie and Tina were rather fascinated by Newt’s creatures, and George and Julia were happy to revisit them with the sisters. Murdoch, having finally gotten over his shock, was actually able to appreciate the wonders of the case this time around. 

Watts found his gaze returning to Newt constantly - a subconscious need to reassure himself that Newt was alive.

With the others distractedly playing with the diriclaws, Watts took the opportunity to slip next to Newt. Standing side by side, he allowed his hand to fall to his side, and he gently brushed his knuckles against Newt’s. 

Newt looked into his warm brown eyes and smiled. He longed to rest his head on Watts’s shoulder, to embrace him. To reassure them both that they were alive and well. Instead he contented himself with reciprocating the gesture.

“Newt,” said Watts gently, in a voice barely audible. Newt look at Watts. Watts swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. 

“I’m so very happy that you’re alive.”

Newt beamed, as he felt his heart melt. For someone who claimed to not really understand human behaviour, he appeared to have gotten the message loud and clear. 

“Llewellyn, I’m so very happy that you’re still you,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again. He looked into Watts’s eyes sheepishly. 

Watts glanced around, then decided to risk giving Newt’s hand a quick squeeze. Newt squeezed his hand back, Newt grinned shyly then looked away.

Watts smiled to himself.

Queenie shot them a knowing grin. Newt blushed and shot her a dirty look. Queenie’s expression was one of pure innocence. 

Newt sighed, shaking his head, “We best be going...Tina, your informant, Mr. Fletcher mentioned something called _Eton_ ?”   
  
“Eaton’s Department Store, in Muggle Toronto. Right near City Hall, on Queen and Yonge,” said Queenie, smiling brightly... “No better place to shop, they truly have everything. Including, it would seem, your invisible creature.”

Murdoch spoke up, “But at this time of night, surely, it must be closed?” 

“I think that’s the point, Sir.” said George.

“Are we to burgle the department store?” asked Julia with a laugh. 

“I’d consider it more of a rescue mission,” said Newt with a grin, "Away from prying eyes." 

* * * * * * * 

In almost no time at all, they rounded the corner around City Hall, and they found themselves staring up at the soaring brick complex that was Eaton’s store, factory and mail-order distribution center. 

"Sir, do you remember when we investigated the murder or the floor manager here a few years ago? That was when we first met Eva Pearce" said George to Murdoch.   
  
"Yes, George. How could we forget?" responded Murdoch. 

“When you said ‘department store’ I was imagining something large...but not this large,” said Newt, slightly put off. “It’s difficult enough finding a creature that can go invisible - this place is massive.”

“It’ll be like trying to find a needle in a haystack,” agreed George sadly. 

“I once found a needle in a haystack,” said Watts sympathetically, “It was not easy.” 

“Hopefully we’ll be able to put your finding skills to use,” replied George, he made to walk towards the store, but Murdoch pulled him back.

“We can’t just walk up to the door and break in…” said Murdoch, “People will notice!” 

Newt nodded, pensively. He looked to Queenie and Tina, “Disillusionment charms?” 

“You read my mind,” said Tina. In unison, they pulled out their wands and cast the charm. The muggles gasped, as one would at the curious sensation the Disillusionment charm causes...the feeling of having an egg smashed against one’s head and the slow trickle of cold yolk dribbling down one’s neck and back tends to leave one rather startled. Equally surprising to the Muggles was the fact that they were now all - not _invisible_ per say, but perfectly camouflaged with their surroundings. 

“Wow!” said George excitedly as he waved about his hands. He held them up against the brick façade of the building, and beamed as they changed color to match. 

“This should allow us to slip in unnoticed. We’ll cancel the charm once we’re inside. It’ll be hard enough looking for one invisible creature without all of us also being invisible,” said Tina. 

They made their way to the main entrance without incident. Tina waved her wand and with a quick _alohomora_ she unlocked the doors and disabled the alarm system. They slipped in one at a time and paused in the elegant entry with its towering marble art deco columns. Usually, it was bustling with activity as shoppers passed from display case to display, like honey bees collecting nectar in a garden. Now it was silent as a grave. 

“Where do we begin?” asked Murdoch, looking around, as Tina and Newt cancelled the charm.

“We'll have to try to be unpredictable. I’m really surprised that he ran off in the first place. He’s normally so dependable and nurturing, especially with the occamy Hatchlings I-” 

Newt stopped mid-sentence. Eyes wide. 

“Oh dear.” 

“What? What now?” asked Tina, frustration going from zero to one hundred in an instant. 

“What if he wasn’t so much running _away_ from, but chasing _after.._.Oh BUGGER. DOUGAL!!” Shouted Newt and he took off at a sprint, “Dougal! Where are you, love?” 

“Newt? What’s happening?” asked George as they chased after him.

“Food! Is there food here?”

“Is now the time to be thinking of food?” asked Murdoch, exasperated.

But Queenie, three steps ahead as always, grabbed Newt by the sleeve and yanked him in the opposite direction towards the _Gourmet Market and Cakes_ department. 

“Demiguises are fundamentally peaceful...at worst, they’ll give you a nip if provoked. But they’re incredibly loving and caring creatures. I think Dougal might be babysitting.”

“What?! What do you mean?” asked Tina.

Halfway through the handbag section, he stopped dead in his tracks, and Queenie and Watts collided into him. Newt held up his hand at the others, then pointed at a bright red handbag floating along the floor. “What in the world?” asked Murdoch. 

“Dougal,” and he grinned, “Try very hard not to be predictable. Demiguises’ sight operates on probability - it can foresee the most likely immediate future...makes them incredibly difficult to catch.”

The handbag stopped mid-aisle, and Dougal the demiguise dissolved into view.   
  
Dougal was positively adorable: a primate-looking creature with brilliant kind eyes, and cascading white fur. Dougal hugged the red handbag to his chest and scampered over to Newt happily. He tugged on Newt’s trousers in greeting. Newt bent forward and lovingly petted Dougal’s head. 

“Dougal, you brilliant, kind, utterly wonderful soul.” 

Dougal took Newt’s hand, and pulled him along urgently. 

“It’s my fault. I must have miscounted. It’s so hard to count when they’re so _wriggly_ ,” said Newt softly as he allowed Dougal to lead him up a series of staircases to the offices and storage rooms on the upper floors. The others followed, rather confused.   
  
“I don’t understand, we have your creature...what are we still doing here?” asked Tina.   
  
Just then a roar was heard directly above them. 

  
“What was that?!” asked Murdoch nervously. 

“That’s why Dougal is here. Like I said...Babysitting.” 

They reached the landing before the largest storeroom. It was a maze of crates and boxes, dimly lit by the light of street lamps filtering in through the tall windows. 

Tina looked at Newt disbelieving, but Newt was in his element. Another whimpering roar was heard from the storeroom. George, Murdoch, Julia and Watts exchanged nervous looks. Newt calmly and quietly slipped into the room, moving slowly so as to not startle its inhabitant.   
  
“That’s alright, Love, Mummy’s here,” said Newt in the tone one would use to comfort a beloved colicky infant, as he gently placed his case on the floor, and flipped it open as he did with the leucrotta. His companions looked about the seemingly devoid-of-magical-beasts room in confusion, until they noticed where Newt was staring… 

Up.

Newt tuned out the collective gasps and panicked cries behind him. He looked lovingly down at Dougal, who cautiously made his way forward and spilled the contents of the red handbag in the middle of the room. Out rolled apples, cheeses, breads, tiny cakes and biscuits wrapped in elegant wax paper. Dougal chittered gently like a doting parent at the gigantic winged serpent perched along the beams of the ceiling. 

“One of the occamy hatchlings got loose. He’s only a baby, barely days old. Poor old Dougal took it upon himself to watch over him,” said Newt gently.

“Hatchling? That thing is HUGE!” hissed Tina, disbelievingly. 

“Occamies are choranaptyxic...they can grow to fill available space. Like goldfish.” 

“Goldfish, definitely the first thing to pop to mind when faced with...that…” said George weakly as they watched Dougal hold up a block of cheese to the creature. It craned its giant feathered head down to sniff the cheese warily before ever-so-gently grabbing it from Dougal’s outstretched hand. Throwing its head back, it swallowed it, rind and all with a tremendous gulp.

“What do we do?” asked Julia.

“We need an insect. The juicer the better!” said Newt as unbeknownst to any of them, Dougal’s eyes suddenly glowed blue, “...and a teapot. Just try, very hard-”

The occamy burped, and Queenie startled, accidentally bumping into a stacked crate, sending it tumbling to the floor with a resounding crash. Dougal groaned and vanished.

“-not to startle him.” finished Newt with a wince as the occamy roared and began to wriggle in a panic. The storage room was soon filled with waves of undulating blue scales and feathers as the occamy flopped about, spooked. 

“TEAPOT! INSECT!” shouted Newt over the din.

It was utter chaos. The friends were battered around like leaves in a hurricane. 

Watts found himself very nearly crushed under the occamy’s tail as he struggled to cross the room to Newt. 

Newt was furiously digging in his case, and called out triumphantly as he pulled out a rather chipped teapot decorated with dainty floral patterns. 

“TEAPOT!” He roared holding it aloft.

He glanced around him in horror as he saw Dr. Ogden, Murdoch and George caught up in the creature’s coils, Watts, winded and battered, struggling to get up from the floor, and Tina and Queenie furiously scrambling in the corners, desperately searching for an-

“INSECT!” shouted Queenie as she stood, holding an unfortunate cockroach triumphantly in her fist.   
  
It was as if a switch had been flipped. Everything froze as they were suddenly engulfed in deafening silence. Dougal rematerialised beside Watts, scampered up his leg, and clutched him in a vice-like grip around his midsection as he hid his face against Watts’s chest.

“Queenie,” said Newt, evenly yet urgently, “Please, don’t panic...very important. No quick movements.” Tina gasped in horror as the occamy drew closer to Queenie, its electric blue eyes fixed resolutely on her outstretched hand. It licked its beak-like mouth with a bright pink tongue. Its nostrils flared.  
  
Queenie gulped audibly, but did not move.   
  
“That’s it, Queenie, just like that, you’re doing marvelously. Next step, insect in teapot, right? When I say “now” fling it at me as hard as you can.” 

Watts could see where this was going. It truly was the leucrotta all over again. He winced weakly, his ribs sore. The demiguise cuddled closer. 

“Ready?” asked Newt gently. 

Queenie nodded, terrified-yet-determined.

“NOW!” shouted Newt.

Queenie flung the cockroach and recoiled back. It sailed through the air as if in slow motion. No one spoke, no one hardly breathed...all eyes stared transfixed as the insect arched through the space. Then, Newt sprung into action. He dove forward, teapot firmly grasped in his outstretched arm. He crashed to the floor, but his aim was true, and with a delicate, crunchy _clunk_ , the roach landed squarely in the teapot. 

Newt quickly covered his head with his other arm, as the occamy inhaled sharply. For an instant, it seemed to expand, to take up every last bit of space in that dusty storeroom. Then with a roaring whoosh it charged downwards at Newt.

“Newt!” cried Watts, horrified. Newt would surely be crushed under the newborn’s clumsy bulk. 

As it approached the terrifying moment of impact, however, the occamy began to shrink, first its head, then its body, like a deflating balloon, till it was smaller than a common garden snake. And with a not-so-delicate _plunk,_ it landed directly in the teapot. 

Newt instantly jumped to knees, slamming the teapot’s lid down firmly in place. The sharp _clink_ of ceramic not nearly loud enough to drown out the crunching, chomping and slurping noises emanating from the teapot as the baby occamy devoured its supper. 

"Eww," said Tina. George looked vaguely nauseous. 

Newt got to his feet, and his friends gathered around cautiously. He cracked open the lid a hair to peek inside. The occamy hatching coiled happily inside the teapot, and now satiated, it drifted off to sleep. Its teeny serpentine nostrils flaring as it snored softly. 

Newt chucked, “They’re choranaptyxic...they can also _shrink_ to fill available space.”

Watts looked at the mad genius disbelievingly before laughing weakly. 

Newt smiled at Watts and Dougal who was still firmly cradled against his chest. 

"I thought you said 'nothing with more than an XXX rating,'" said Tina weakly.

Newt smiled sheepishly. 

“Mr. Scamander,” said Murdoch weakly, “Please answer me honestly - is this the last of your creatures?” 

“Yes, Detective, that’s all of them.”

He turned to Watts and said “Let’s get these two back home.” 

* * * * * * * 

Dougal seemed to take quite a liking to Watts. Newt reckoned it was because of Watts's unpredictable and unorthodox methodologies. Back in Newt’s case, Dougal happily lead Watts from enclosure to enclosure, pointing at different things of note and chattering happily. Watts responded in kind.   
  
“That _is_ a lovely tree, my dear Dougal, most majestic,” he said as they passed the bowtruckle nest. Newt stopped at the tree again and had another chat with Pickett.

“My friend,” he said affectionately to the brave little bowtruckle, “You’ve gone above and beyond today. Tina and I owe you our lives. I’m afraid my next adventure might be a bit of a dangerous one. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The bowtruckle blew a raspberry affectionately, and crawled up Newt’s arm, back to his breast pocket. 

“Thank you, Pickett. I’m glad to have you with me,” Newt smiled sadly, then continued on to the occamy enclosure. Once there, ever-so-gently, so as not to disturb the sleeping baby occamy, slipped it out of the teapot and into the nest with its dozing siblings. 

Dougal sighed in relief, then let go of Watts’s hand and scampered over to a hammock strung between two of the bamboo trees in the occamy enclosure.

“Thank you, Dougal,” said Newt, and he patted the demiguise affectionately. 

He turned back to his human friends gathered, and said awkwardly, “Well, I best be getting on to the obscurial,” glancing down at the teapot in his hands, he continued, “Unless you’d like a spot of tea first?” 

George laughed, “Cockroach and occamy infused oolong is it? I think we’ll pass.” 

Newt grinned sadly, “The same applies to you all as well, you know. What I said to Pickett. I’m so incredibly grateful for your assistance, your companionship. But I cannot ask you to come along. It can get dangerous…it likely _will_ get dangerous.” 

“Mr. Scamander, as George said earlier to Miss Goldstein, we are no strangers to danger,” said Murdoch, “We’ve started this mad caper with you. I’d certainly like to see it through.” 

“You’re one of us now, Bunny,” said Queenie brightly, “We protect our own.” 

“Quite frankly, if taking on a rampaging leucrotta makes one friendly, certainly taking on an occamy makes us...practically family,” said George seriously. 

“Yes, it’s in The Bible,” said Watts with a grin.  
  
“One of the Psalms if I remember correctly,” said George beaming. 

Murdoch, Julia, Tina and Queenie looked rather lost, as George, Newt and Watts laughed heartily. And if they sounded a bit hysterical no one mentioned a thing. And if Newt got a little weepy and needed to stare at the floor a bit, blinking away tears furiously, until he could collect himself, they pretended not to notice. 

Then, the newly christened family departed Newt's case to search for the obscurial together.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eaton's Department Store in Toronto *was* massive. And it did have a Gourmet Food department and a Cakes Counter on the basement level (just past the handbags). 
> 
> You might remember it from the "Murdoch in Ladies Wear" episode. 
> 
> We never really learn the precise details surrounding Grindelwald's infiltration into MACUSA in the original. Did he go there because he suspected there was an obscurus? What did he hope to do with the obscurus? How much did Dumbledore know? Did Dumbledore send Newt to New York in the original story simply because he suspected Grindelwald was there? Or was it because he thought/new the obscurus was there? How could he have known when MACUSA clearly had no clue? It either speaks volumes about MACUSA's incompetence or Dumbledore's meddling. If he sent Newt in to take down Grindelwald, it wouldn't surprise me, but it certainly would disappoint me. 
> 
> Watts's needle in the haystack comment came directly from "Murdoch Schmurdoch", and I realize that was probably a throw-away comment to make Watts sound more quirky and eccentric, but I so desperately would love to know the backstory. I can imagine a young Watts hearing the expression for the first time and thinking, "I wonder just how difficult that is..." and deciding he needed practical first-hand knowledge. 
> 
> I believe in my heart of hearts that Watts would have been a Hatstall between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. I'm not sure which house he'd end up in. He's inquisitive, wise and cerebral, but he's got the heart of a Hufflepuff that gets in the way of his logic sometimes...(like everything that happened in Brother's Keeper. Sweet Merlin, just thinking about that episode hurts. Or his actions regarding Fiona Faust - totally illogical, thinking fully with the heart.) Murdoch would 100% be Ravenclaw. Julia probably Gryffindor with a Slytherin streak (I get such a Hermione/Ginny vibe from her), and the Inspector too (Godric, you don't get more Gryffindor that Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.) George would have been a Hufflepuff or a Neville-esque Gryffindor. 
> 
> Anyway, I meant to post this chapter earlier this week, but I've been feeling terribly under the weather. To borrow a quote from Professor Lupin, "I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill." 
> 
> We're approaching the final stretch of the story. I'm reworking bits of the last chapters. There's one scene in particular that I've re-written probably 10 times already. I can't decide the best way to have it go. Part of me is really struggling...I don't want this to be over. I'm enjoying it too much. The other part of me can't wait to share the final bits with you. It's been an almost-year-long journey writing this fic. Thank you for being a part of it :) 
> 
> I will try to have the next chapter up in the next couple of days. 
> 
> Cheers, 
> 
> Talia


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which truth is discovered.
> 
> (First part of the final showdown)

**Chapter 17**

It was just gone nine o’clock in the evening on the 29th of August, 1925. While Newt and his friends were busy at Eatons, Mr. Meyers was dining with the French Ambassador - the real one, not Murdoch pretending, and Mr. Graves had gone off somewhere to plot and scheme. 

Deep in the belly of The Ward, at The New Salem Society, supper had long since ended. The soup bowls had been washed and put away. The pot was scrubbed, the utensils polished and made ready for the Sunday luncheon. Pamphlets had been distributed to the children for early-morning proselytizing on Sunday. 

The unfortunate absence of Reverend Winters did not derail the Society’s mission - Ma led the congregation in their typical Saturday night post-supper services. She read scripture, and preached with all the fury and fire of the Reverend. She cast judgemental eyes on the gathered children and few adults that came to their services. There were more that usual of the latter this evening, perhaps people were curious after the explosion earlier in the day.

Credence did not hear a word of the services, so caught up was he in his thoughts. 

By some miracle, Credence had managed to slip back into the New Salem Society unnoticed. Mary Lou Barebone was focused on clean-up.

Credence was determined to find the child that Mr. Graves so desperately sought, and to do that would be difficult enough. The last thing he needed was Ma breathing down his neck. He looked about the gathered children...he instantly dismissed any child that did not come to the _Society_ regularly...it had to be a regular for Mr. Graves to have visions of the child in relation to Ma. He examined each child and dismissed them one by one in his mind’s eye. 

None of these children even remotely exhibited the raw power that Mr. Graves had described. They felt so...ordinary. He felt himself begin to panic. 

Credence felt eyes on him. He glanced around the room nervously, praying that Ma hadn’t yet caught sight of him. His gaze fell on Modesty who was staring at him in her normal flat, unblinking countenance. 

Suddenly everything clicked. 

Modesty.

He slipped from the room unnoticed as the services ran on, and made his way to the bedroom he shared with his siblings, heart hammering loudly in his chest. _This was it. He was so close._

He stopped before Modesty’s bed, and took a breath, hesitating. Could this truly be his ticket to freedom? 

Modesty, who, of the three of them, was the one who shared Ma’s hatred and obsession with witches. Modesty, who frightened him, always watching, always staring.

It made sense. No one else was close enough to Ma. No one else was young enough. No one else unsettled him so very much. Surely the crawling, uneasy feeling he felt when she looked at him could be latent magical power? 

He had to move quickly before Ma found him. He’d have to lure Modesty away from Ma, and then call Mr. Graves. He would pack Modesty’s belongings, and his own and they’d be gone before they knew it. Preferably before the end of services. He wished he’d payed closer attention to know what they were up to. They’d sneak up the fire escape to the rooftop to his hideaway and then take off among the chimneys. He'd tell her it was a witch hunting game. He’d call Mr. Graves using his special talisman, and they’d be free! Free of the life of misery they were living. And he’d ask Mr. Graves if they could take Chastity along too.

Mr. Graves was a nice man, a powerful man, surely he’d help protect Chastity from Ma’s fury? 

Credence quickly packed his meager belongings into his pillowcase.

He then grabbed Modesty’s pillow, and slipped it from its case. He searched through her chest of drawers, rifling through her clothes of grey, black and brown. He threw some of her clothes on her bed and began to stuff them in the pillowcase. 

Next, he bent forward to search beneath her bed, where he knew she kept her most prized belongings. He found a solitary doll, a small length of pink ribbon, and a handful of coins. 

“What are you doing under my bed, Credence?” 

Credence started, hitting his head forcefully on the underside of his bed. He dropped the coins. They fell with a plunk and scattered, rolling about the floor. He had been so focused on his task, that he had not heard the door opening behind him. 

The service had ended, he could hear the shuffling of worshipers leave from the front door. The anxiety started to build. Already his plan was falling apart. He didn’t know how he’d get Modesty out without a distraction.

“Nothing, Modesty. I was just looking for…”

“Stealin’ is a sin Credence. The Good Book says so, ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ Credence. You’re a sinner Credence. You’re stealin’ and stealin’s a sin!” She did not shout but her voice carried loudly. 

“Please, Modesty, not so loud, I don’t want Ma to hear! I wasn’t stealin, I was packing...you and me, we’re leaving for a long trip. For an adventure. We’re leaving this place. We're hunting for witches.” 

“Why are you lyin’ Credence?” 

“Modesty please! Mr. Graves wants to take us away from here...’

“WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” shouted Mary Lou Barebone as she slammed open the door.  
  
Credence nearly died on the spot. He trembled in fear watching his hopes melt away like snow before the hot spring sun. He had been so close to freedom. Now, Mary Lou Barebone towered over him like a fire-breathing dragon. Her eyes were filled with hate and violence. Credence whimpered.  
  
“Ma! Credence was being naughty, Ma. He’s stealin’ and lyin’ and sneakin’” said Modesty in a sing-song voice.

Miss Barebone spun around and looked at Credence, her expression one of pure hate. Credence flinched back, cradling his head in his arms, and he began to sob. He was so close to escape, and now, now Ma would surely kill him. 

Ma lunged at him, and pulled him up by the hair.  
  
“You worthless weakling. You devil spawn,” she punctuated each sentence with a blow to Credence’s face. “Son of a witch!” 

Modesty gasped and began to cry.

“MA! He wanted to take me away. He’s a witch. He wanted to take me to the devil! He wanted to kill you and take me away from here for a long time, he said. He’s been sneaking out. He’s been meeting with that Mr. Graves man.” 

Ma grabbed Credence by the shoulders and shook him hard.  
  
“IS THIS TRUE, BOY!?” she roared. 

Credence couldn’t speak. Silent sobs wracked his body and he shook his head.

“How DARE you deny it. You ARE a witch, boy. And a sodomite! I heard it myself from that drunkard! You’ve sneaking off with that Mr. Graves! Taking my daughter to include in your wicked ways!” 

She attacked Credence with renewed anger. 

“IT WAS YOU, WASN’T IT!” she roared, raining fists down on him, “YOU SOLD THE REVEREND TO THE WITCHES, YOU JUDAS ISCARIOT!” She threw him to the floor where he crumbled bonelessly. Miss Barebone was spitting mad, ready to kill. Her face red, her eyes narrowed, as she roared, “You COORDINATED with those witches to SABOTAGE our preaching this afternoon!” She grabbed the rod she kept by the window specifically for punishing. She wheeled around, towering over his prone form. "YOU KILLED ALL THOSE PEOPLE, DIDN'T YOU!"

Credence pressed his face against the wooden floor, sobbing, praying to be anywhere else, to be gone. To be dead. 

Mary Lou Barebone bent down and pulled Credence’s head off the floor by his hair. “You will never get out of here,” she hissed cruelly into his ear, “I will kill you boy, send your soul back to the Devil where it belongs!” 

Modesty watched on transfixed, head cocked to the side as Ma unleashed her fury on Credence.  
  


Then the wind rushed and everything went black.

  
  
  


* * * * * * * 

  
  


It was well past ten. Inspector Brackenreid sat staring at his telephone wondering where the blazes everyone was. His work shift had long since ended, but still he sat, anxiously waiting for news. He’d heard neither hide nor hair of Murdoch, Watts, Crabtree or Dr. Ogden since the afternoon; the radio silence was driving him up a wall. 

His copper’s instincts screamed that something wasn’t quite right. He’d phoned Margaret just before supper, to inform her he’d be working late. At eight, he ran to the canteen for a quick roast beef sandwich. 

First he’d been worried, then he got upset...but now the worry was seeping back in. Thomas Brackenreid was a man of action. He did not like sitting at his desk with his hands tied when there was clearly something big afoot. He could feel it in the air. 

He picked up the book he'd been trying to read and put it back down again, unable to concentrate. 

“Higgins!!” He shouted. He made his way out of his office and to Henry, who had fallen asleep at his desk. Henry jumped to his feet, and saluted, “Sir?”

“No word yet?”

“No, Sir.”

Brackenreid huffed.

“Back to it then. Glad we can pay you to catch up on sleep.” 

“Right, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” said Higgins, slouching back down into his seat. He covered his eyes with his helmet and settled himself back to sleep.

Brackenreid stormed over, and ripped the helmet from his head. “I was being sarcastic, Bugalugs!”

They were interrupted by the sharp ring of the telephone. Before Higgins could answer, another phone began to ring, then another. 

Brackenreid’s stomach sank as he heard rapid footsteps and an urgent “Sir!” in his direction.

“What is it, Constable Jones?”

“Sir, another Bombless Bomb! In the Ward. The New Salem Society!” 

A fist of cold dread closed around Brackenreid’s heart. He hoped his lads were okay.

“Jones, Higgins, gather the constables, all hands!” then shouting at the room at large, “SOMEONE TRY TO GET BLOODY MURDOCH ON THE LINE!” 

“Sir!” said Higgins.  
  
“HIGGINS, what part of ‘gather the constables’ did you not understand?”

“But Sir -” he pointed to the entryway. 

Bloody hell. The last thing he needed...Bloody Terence bloody Meyers.

He allowed himself a _sotto voce_ slew of profanity that would make a seasoned sailor blush. 

Meyers strolled in, _dapper berk_ , in a silk top hat, tuxedo and wingtip shoes. 

“Terrance Meyers,” said Brackenreid, letting the syllables of his name drag out in distaste. _Tosser_ , he added in his mind. “It’s a bit late for a social call.”

“Ah, Inspector, I was wondering if Detective Murdoch was about? Some urgent business.” 

“I was wondering about Murdoch’s whereabouts myself. Would you care to let me in on this ‘urgent business’?.”

“I would love to, Inspector, but this is a matter of-“

“The International Statute of Secrecy,” said Brackenreid with raised eyebrows, a smug look on his moustached face. 

Meyers looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon.

“How did you-“ 

“ _Confidential_ ,” he said. It was petty, he knew, but the satisfaction was overwhelming, “Let’s just say, I’ve been briefed. And what with this new attack at the New Salem Society-”

“There’s been a new attack?” Meyers gasped. 

“You’ve been out of the loop, haven’t you? What were you partying the night away?” Brackenreid asked smugly. Then he grew serious. “I have the sinking feeling that my Detectives, my Constables, and possibly my Coroner might be in a great deal of trouble. Now, I’m no _wizard_ , or fortune teller but I always trust my instincts...I don’t care about your intrigue and games of spy and seek, but when you endanger my lads, you’ve got me to answer to. So you’re going to help me get them back safe and sound.” 

Meyers spluttered. Brackenreid ignored him with a dark smile. 

“Shall we?” asked Brackenreid, and not waiting for an answer, he roughly grabbed Meyers’s shoulder and frog-marched him to the door,

  
  


* * * * * * * 

Credence sat huddled in his rooftop sanctuary. Despite the oppressive heat that didn’t break with the setting of the sun, he was shivering and sobs wracked his body. The pain from Ma’s beating, though intense, was nothing compared to the pain and guilt that tormented him at that moment. 

_What had he done?! He’d killed Ma. And with the building in the state it was, he likely killed Chastity and Modesty too. He was certainly destined for hellfire._

He sobbed harder. 

_He was a murderer. Mr. Graves was a law-enforcement officer. Mr. Graves would have to arrest him and have him hung for murder, and he deserved it. He wanted it to end. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. Didn't want to suffer anymore._

With trembling hands he pulled out the talisman that Mr. Graves had given him. He pressed it between his fingers. Within seconds, he heard a sharp crack, which he’d come to associate with the appearance and disappearance of _magicals._

“Credence, my boy- What is this? What’s happened?” Mr. Graves quickly stalked over to Credence.

The boy couldn’t answer. He only continued to cry. The man who called himself Graves was losing his patience. He grabbed Credence roughly by the scruff of his neck.

“It’s Modesty,” Credence whispered desperately. “It must be.”

"Modesty? Modesty's the obscurial? Your littlest sister?"

Credence could only nod dumbly.

“Where is she, boy?” 

Credence was so overcome he couldn’t speak. He could only cry. He pointed at the destroyed chapel.

“Did she do this?” He asked excitedly. 

Credence shook his head and cried harder. Graves did not care. Not when he was so close. He did not need this useless half-blood squib any longer. 

“Your lies will not protect her. She doesn’t need your protection. Where is she? I need to save her from Miss Barebone.”

“Ma is dead,” Credence managed to squeak out.

“I don’t care about your useless mother. Where is the obscurial?” 

Credence was too overcome to answer.

“Answer me, you pathetic, useless weakling!” he roared, giving Credence a shake. 

The words cut Credence like Ma's rod. When Credence didn’t answer, Graves laughed cruelly. 

“I should have known. I should have thought before involving such a pathetic worthless boy like you. Your mother may have been a witch, but she is dead. Has been long dead, and you...you are nothing boy. A squib - powerless and weak. You deserve nothing better than this life of misery, but your sister, she is special.”

The betrayal hit Credence like a knife to the heart. 

“You, you told me you’d teach me, train me to be your protégé, your son.”

Graves laughed coldly, “You are unteachable. Worthless. A waste of life.”

He let go of Credence, who collapsed. 

“I trusted you,” whispered Credence, “I thought you were good…” 

“I have news for you boy - there’s no good and evil. Just the powerful and the weak. And of the two, you’re the latter.” Credence grabbed Graves’s leg and whispered, “Please.” 

But Graves aimed a kick at Credence who flinched back. He laughed again and made his way to the fire escape. Credence was trembling with misery and rage. 

The man who called himself Graves did not notice at first as the boy’s features blurred and the smoke began to pool. He did not notice as the cloud rose up to engulf Credence.

He _did_ notice when Credence let out a visceral roar of raw pain and anger. He glanced back quickly just in time to see the explosion as Credence became the obscurus. He barely had a chance to cast a powerful _Protego_ as the churning storm cloud charged at him. The shield charm held, but the fire escape directly above and below him was shredded down to ribbons and metal filings. Graves fell through the air, and hurried to cast a quick _Arresto Momentum_ to slow his fall. 

He should be worried, but instead, he laughed like a madman.  
  


“Credence!” He called, his voice a cheer.

But Credence was beyond hearing. The storm cloud of repressed rage, fear, guilt, and hate sped off, bouncing from building to building facade, smashing walls, shattering windows, and raining destruction down on the Ward. 

The man who called himself Graves had made a serious error, but still he laughed with glee at the raw power he saw. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he turned on himself and vanished with a resounding CRACK.

  
  


* * * * * * * 

  
  


“Good _Lord_ ,” said Crabtree in shock.

The devastation at the scene was total and complete. 

What was left of the New Salem Society appeared as if it would be done in by the slightest breeze. Two of the four exterior walls had been completely demolished. Pamphlets and books were strewn amidst the rubble that spilled into the streets and alleyways. George noticed a doll that had been torn in half and sprawled desolately amidst the debris. He shook his head sadly.

“I fear we might be far too late,” said Newt nervously. He cautiously picked his way through the debris to the gaping hole that was once the front entrance. 

“Are you sure it’s safe, Mr. Scamander?” Asked Murdoch, “It doesn’t look structurally sound.”

Newt slipped his wand from his pocket, and waived it at the ruins. 

“That should hold for a bit at least,” he said, sounding as if he was assuring himself as well as Murdoch. Then he slipped inside. The others followed.

The scene inside was even worse.

“Chastity!” cried Julia, and she ran to the girl who lay half-buried under the debris.

The girl looked deathly pale. Her eyes were open, unseeing, her neck was twisted at an odd angle. Her hair pooled behind her head, like a halo in the dark 

Julia knelt before the girl to check for a pulse, and when she found none, she gently brushed her hair from her face and slipped the poor girl’s sightless eyes closed. 

Julia turned to look at them, her eyes glistening with tears. Murdoch, Watts, and George removed their hats. Newt bowed his head. Murdoch crossed himself and whispered a quick prayer for the unfortunate girl’s soul. All deaths were tragic to witness, but the death of a child was always particularly difficult. It was such a sin - a young life cut short so abruptly. 

Newt looked utterly devastated. 

“Was it the obscurus?” asked Queenie. 

“I don’t think so,” said Newt, “Not directly anyway - she doesn’t have the telltale markings. I think she was unfortunately at the wrong place at the wrong time…”

Julia nodded sadly, “It appears that she was crushed by falling rubble.” 

Newt shook his head, overwhelmed with guilt and sadness. He squared his shoulders, then waved his wand. The gold stardust-like-substance glistened through the room before falling to the floor in patterns. He examined it quickly, then cancelled the spell with a wave of his left hand. With renewed determination, he made his way up what was left of the stairs. 

The smallest bedroom on the second floor was mostly destroyed. The door off the landing had been torn to shreds. Only a small section of floor remained, the rest of the room had been blasted apart, leaving a gaping hole open to the dark night.

Watts and Tina had slipped upstairs along with Newt. Tina had her wand drawn. Watts brushed his hand against Newt’s in what he hoped was a comforting way. Newt managed a half grin of appreciation before giving his hand a quick squeeze, grateful for the contact.

Newt entered what was left of the bedroom. Tina gasped in shock. Mary Lou Barebone lay sprawled on the floor, her face contorted in hate and fear. Her face and hands were covered with the lightning-like markings of an obscurus attack. 

“The obscurus got to her,” said Tina. Various emotions played across her face. She didn’t like the woman, but she hadn’t wished her a fate like this.

Watts spotted something that made his stomach turn. Out of habit, to preserve fingermarks, he slipped a handkerchief from his pocket to pick up the rod she held in her right hand. 

Tina muttered “ _lumos_ ” and the tip of her wand erupted in light. 

She sucked in a sharp breath. Miss Barebone must have wielded the rod so heavily that it cracked and splintered. More sickening still was the blood that coated it, glittering red in the wand light. 

“She must have beaten the poor child until she snapped," said Tina, her voice breaking. 

“Poor dear," said Watts gently... “I wonder if the boy Credence is alright…” Then paused. He thought he’d heard something. He turned back to the door and made his way over. Tina and Newt frowned in confusion, but then, they too heard the desperate shuffling and sniffling noises coming from the closet. 

Watts opened the door, and leapt back in surprise.

“MODESTY?” he cried.

Newt was instantly at his side, and slipping his wand back into his pocket.

The little girl was crying silently and rocking herself. Her lamp-like eyes were wide in shock as tears poured down her face and her lips moved silently with no words coming out. The entire front of her dress was covered in blood. 

“She’s appears to be shock,” said Watts. 

"So much blood!" said Tina.

“She’s likely to have been injured by falling debris,” Watts responded, slipping off his suit jacket. He draped it carefully over Modesty's shoulders. She did not react. It was as if she could not see them.

“Modesty, can you hear me? What happened, love?” asked Newt gently, trying his best to examine her for gaping wounds. She had a cut on her head, but it didn’t look too serious. In his experience, head wounds tended to bleed profusely. 

Modesty's eyes swam in and out of focus, but she finally looked at Newt.

“Credence,” she choked out then shut her eyes and burst into silent tears. Watts glanced at Newt and Tina.

“Credence?” he asked.

“I don’t understand. He’s far too old to be an obscurial,” said Tina.

But Watts's brilliant mind was working in overdrive. He was piecing things together. He could see it all lain so plainly before him. Credence at City Hall totally untouched by the dust and debris. Their conversation - he mistook the boy's guilt over the death of the newspaper man for shock. He thought of the boy, always flinching and trying to disappear, of how Mary Lou Barebone was particularly horrid to him. She must have known on some level that he was magical and hated him for it. And he, poor boy, had to hide and repress that part of himself living in a place where it would surely be met with hatred and violence.

“It all fits,” said Newt clearly thinking along the same lines as Watts, “Just because we've no recorded cases of obscurials reaching past the age of ten doesn't mean it's impossible. It could certainly explain why it’s so powerful.”

“What should we do?” asked Tina desperately.

Newt turned to Modesty, and said gently, “Modesty love, where did Credence go. Is he alright?” 

Modesty continued in her silent fit. Still, she raised a shaky hand, and pointed out into the night. Tina, Newt and Watts exchanged a glance. Newt and Watts stood and made their way over to the edge of the floor and looked out into the night.

A trail of devastation and destruction led away from the New Salem Society. Shattered windows, chunks of brick walls smashed to pieces, and overturned rubbish bins stretched out into the night. 

“Credence,” said Watts sadly, his voice a note of mourning. If only the boy had trusted him, opened up to him. Maybe they could have spared him this suffering. 

“We have to find him. I fear this may have set him off, past the point of no return.” 

“What can I do to help?” asked Watts urgently. 

“Let’s get Modesty downstairs,” said Newt softly. “She likely needs medical attention, and she won’t react well to magical medicine, I don’t think. She’s already undergone tremendous trauma tonight. Miss Barebone may not have been a good person, but she was still Modesty’s mum. And as far as she knows, she just witnessed her brother kill her mum using witchcraft, something she’s been taught to hate and fear all her life.”

“I’ll get her,” said Tina softly. She turned and made her way back to the Modesty's closet. Modesty cried out and shrank back.  
  
“Witch! Witch!” she shrieked, then slipped into hysterics.

Newt strode over and knelt before her as he would a frightened animal. He made soft soothing noises, but did not reach for her right away, giving her time to acclimate to his presence. As he sensed her slowly calming, he ever-so-gently reached out a hand to her shoulder. At first she flinched but then she relaxed slightly into his touch. The shrieking cries were slowly replaced with silent sobs, and her breathing grew more regular. 

Newt said softly, “Modesty, I’m going to help you out of here, and then, we’ll get to you a doctor to make sure you aren’t hurt. Does that sound alright?” 

She didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect her to. He carefully slipped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. Her frail body weighed almost nothing. He cradled her close as the silent sobs wracked her body. She didn’t move to embrace him, just passively allowed herself to be lifted up and out of the closet, eyes screwed shut to avoid seeing the devastation in her bedroom.

Newt carried her downstairs quickly but carefully, flanked by Watts and Tina. 

Murdoch, Julia, George and Queenie had moved some of the rubble in their absence. Chastity lay in the middle of the room as if sleeping. 

Murdoch looked up at him, “Modesty? -”

“She’s not the obscurial,” said Newt quickly. Queenie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. 

“It was Credence,” said Watts softly, awkwardly scratching at his stubble with his unoccupied hand. “It appears Miss Barebone was beating Credence…” he showed Murdoch, George and Julia the bloody rod. “It was too much for him. He snapped. Miss Barebone is upstairs, dead, covered in the markings we've come to associate with obscurus attacks. Poor Modesty was witness to the entire thing. We think she may have also been injured in the destruction - half the upstairs is blown to bits.”

They turned to look at the girl carefully cradled in Newt’s arms. Julia noted Watts’s green plaid jacket carefully tucked over her shoulders. 

“We were hoping, Doctor, with your knowledge of medicine and psychological health, that you could evaluate Miss Barebone - make sure she’s alright. Perhaps prescribe treatment for her,” said Newt gently. 

“Of course!” said Julia quickly, as she stood and approached them, “I’ll take her. I can patch her up and see what else she needs.”

Watts leaned close to her and whispered, “She was a little…” he paused awkwardly “Something seemed not quite right about her even before tonight’s events - we thought it was that she was the obscurial, but-”

“Abuse can do terrible things to a person's psyche,” said Julia sadly, “She could have subconsciously created a persona to protect herself from the horrors of her day-to-day existence. I will know more once I’ve evaluated her.” 

Watts nodded thoughtfully. He placed the bloody rod on the ground. 

“How should we proceed, Mr. Scamander - if Credence Barebone is the Obscurus, we will need to find him…” said Murdoch.

“Is he still alive?” asked George quickly.

“He was not long ago - there’s a trail of destruction leading away from this place. I hope if we follow it, we will find Credence.” 

Newt handed Modesty off to Julia carefully. “Are you okay to carry her, Doctor?”

“Of course,” said Julia, gently. 

Newt lovingly brushing the girl’s hair from her face. He said softly, “This is my friend, Doctor Ogden. You met her earlier today, I’m not sure if you recall. She’s absolutely lovely and brilliant. She will make sure you’re okay.”

Modesty did not even acknowledge his words, she was too far gone in delirium and panic, but Dr. Ogden smiled at Newt gently. He was a good soul and so intuitive when it came to caring for those in need. It was hard _not_ to smile at Newt Scamander. She’s even caught Watts, the stoic philosopher-detective, smile at Mr. Scamander.

Suddenly Queenie gasped.  
  
“We have to get out of here. _You_ especially need to get out of here -” she said wheeling around to Tina and Newt. 

“What do you mean?” asked Tina. 

“The Canadian Magical Parliament will be aware of the situation by now. Aurors will probably descend on this place in moments. You are both wanted by the CMP. You both need to get out of here immediately!” said Queenie.

Tina and Newt exchanged glances.

“What about you, Queenie?” Asked Tina, “And the rest of you - it certainly won’t be safe for Muggles.” 

“It’ll be easier for two people to slip away rather than a large group. Besides, we have to get Modesty to safety...We’ll be less at risk without you here. Go on, go after Credence. We’ll join you as soon as we can. I’ll know where to find you.”

Newt glanced at Watts, who nodded fervently. “Go!”

Tina and Newt slipped out of the New Salem Society into the darkness of the night. 

Queenie gave them a moment’s head start before she ushered the rest of them out.

Watts felt very uncomfortable leaving Chastity and Miss Barebone in the rubble.

“We’ll make sure they’re treated with proper dignity later, Bunny. Our priority now is getting Modesty out and then tracking down Credence,” said Queenie, reading his thoughts.

Watts nodded uncomfortably. Something felt very wrong. 

She guided them down an alleyway, towards where she remembered the main road to be. She hoped they’d be able to hail a cab and get Julia and Modesty to safety.

They’d made it halfway down, when a dark figure stepped out from a shadowy doorway.

“Miss Goldstein, you and the Ambassador and his attachés are certainly a long way from the King Edward Hotel. Did you get lost?” asked Samson sarcastically.

Queenie tried to meet his eyes with a confidence she did not feel, while trying desperately to think. 

He laughed, and said, “I see you’ve not only failed to obliviate the Muggle but are taking him along on your Toronto adventures. _And_ you acquired a stow-away.” he glanced at Modesty in Julia’s arms, but kept his wand fixed on Queenie.

“Mr. Samson, Sir...we”

“Save it. I ran into Meyers and the _real_ ambassador earlier. I know your sister is a traitor who’s been helping that Scamander try to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy. I never dreamed that someone as dumb and beautiful as you could be so devious. You must have helped them escape execution. It won’t happen again though - I’ll bring you in and your sister and Scamander - what is he her lover? I’ll personally activate the killing chair. It’ll be a shame executing a pretty little thing like you…but I'll look forward to it. You think you can pull one past me, _dearie?_ First I’ll obliviate your Muggle accomplices...and then I'll make you pay.” Queenie pulled out her wand, totally unsure of what to do. He grilled cruelly and advanced on Queenie, readying his wand to strike…

...to be interrupted by a sharp tap on the back, and the gruff sound of a throat being cleared. 

Samson spun around only to be met with a pair of fists, which happily made acquaintance with his face. He dropped to the floor, like a sack of shrivelfigs, knocked out cold. Queenie let out a single un-ladylike “HA!” 

A triumphant Brackenreid rubbed his fist and kissed his knuckles.

“I love knocking arrogant little sods down a peg.” 

“Sir!” said George in awe.

“God save the King,” said Brackenreid. He winked at George, who stared at him open-mouthed.

“You! You...You read my book, Sir?!” 

Murdoch looked between them in disbelief, “Is now _really_ the time??”

Brackenreid ignored him, “I needed something to occupy my time as I waited in agony for news of my lads.” 

“Sir! Thank you!” said George appreciatively, his face glowing with happiness like a small sun in the darkness.

“However did you find us?” asked Watts. 

“The phones have been ringing off the bloody hooks reporting “bombless bombs” in The Ward around The New Salem Society. I’d be a piss-poor copper if I didn’t come _directly_ here to look for you lot. I remembered this alley from last time. Now what happened here?” 

“Sir, Mary Lou Barebone and Chastity Barebone are dead. The building is half demolished, and Credence, the obscurus has fled. Scamander and Auror Goldstein are chasing after him,” explained Murdoch quickly.

“Dr. Ogden has Modesty here, she’s been severely injured. We were trying to get her to hospital, before we catch up with Newt and Tina,” said Queenie. 

Brackenreid glanced at them all. “I overheard that tosser’s threats - treason, execution...those are not words I like to hear, and I reckon Meyers won’t like them either. He is here, by the way, he arrived with me and the lads. What the blazes is going on?”

“Sir, Graves - he’s lost it. He’s framing Tina and Newt for treason, getting his aurors to hunt them down. He tried to have them executed without a trial,” began Queenie, speaking at a rush.

“And he tried to have Detective Watts’s mind _wiped_ Sir! By that brute Samson - forget obliviate - he’d have obliterate him...He’s after the boy, Credence. We have to stop him!” finished George quickly. 

The Inspector looked from one to another and thought _Good God, there’s two of ‘em._

“It’s best you lot go help Scamander and Goldstein. I’ll try to smooth things over here, but Doctor - first, I’ll escort you to a car to get you and the lass to safety.” 

“Thank you, Inspector,” said Julia. He helped her along the alley in the dark before shouting over his shoulder at the rest of them.

“Get going, before anyone else sees.” 

  
  


* * * * * * * 

Newt and Tina were moving quickly through the night, up and down alleyways, following the trail of destruction. 

“I’m sorry you got mixed in all of this Tina. I know how hard it is to be an outsider in the world. A woman in the Auror office - it’s not unheard of, but it’s hardly common-place. You’ve been working so hard to get where you are, and now, because of this, because of me...you’re a fugitive.” 

Tina looked at Newt sharply as they came to another dead-end. 

“Did Queenie give you a talking-to?” She looked at him. He squirmed.

Then she began to scale the fence. 

“Not really," said Newt quickly, "I mean, she mentioned how much you had to struggle to get where you are, but it’s pretty obvious, seeing those absolute apes that work in the office -” He pulled himself up and over with relative ease. His gangly frame made it easy. He reached out a hand to help her down. 

“It’s not your fault, Newt. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If there's anyone to blame, it’s Graves. He knows me better than this. He once told me I was his most trusted Auror - how could he possibly turn on me like that? Even if he thought we could be traitors - I can’t believe he would sentence us to execution without a trial! It's a total dereliction of duty! A miscarriage of justice!" 

“I don’t think he’s himself Tina.”

“How would you know? You've never met him before...What does that even mean?”

“I've heard of him though- he's always been described as just and fair. Besides, Queenie told me she can’t hear his thoughts anymore. His behaviour has changed. He’s grown colder, meaner and more violent. Something is not right…” 

He glanced at her face as they turned a corner. He saw the pain there, just below the surface. And he understood. 

“I know this is very difficult Tina. I know how much you care about him. I’m so sorry.” 

Tina closed off. He could see the moment the wall came down. He could see her physically struggle as she pushed those feelings down. 

“He’s not the man I thought he was,” she said finally. They continued on in silence.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved "The Curse of the Lost Pharaohs" miniseries. 
> 
> Of course, 1925 was King George V's reign (rather than Queen Victoria, hence "God Save the King" rather than "God Save the Queen.") But it was too good a reference to pass by. A wee bit of levity in the darkest part of the story.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the Magical Prime Minister of Canada. 
> 
> (Part II of the Final Showdown)

**Chapter 18**

It was rapidly approaching midnight, the night thick and hot. A tension was gathering in the atmosphere as most of the citizens of Toronto slept. The late night revelers were mostly oblivious to the creeping wrongness that permitted the air, though as the music played and the lights twinkled they found themselves dancing with more vigor than usual. Perhaps the nervous energy got to them in unconscious ways. 

At the building that was formerly known as the New Salem Society, Inspector Brackenreid was overseeing the investigation himself. 

The hustle and bustle of police work was vaguely comforting to the Inspector. It made him feel like he was at least doing _something_. Miss Barebone’s body had been brought downstairs, and Meyers stared at the scarring on her face numbly, his face pale, his eyes wide. 

“Inspector, a word? Outside.” 

Brackenreid sighed, but made his way out to the street where clean-up had begun. 

Meyers stalked outside on unsteady feet. He leaned heavily against the neighbouring tenement building, and slipped a pipe out from his jacket pocket. 

He lit it with a wave of his hand and then glanced at Brackenreid to gauge his reaction. To Brackenreid’s credit, he didn’t bat an eyelid. He inhaled sharply, allowing the tobacco smoke to settle his frayed nerves, then exhaled, watching the smoke make its way up into the night. 

“Did you ask me out here to watch you smoke, Meyers?” 

“Inspector, in my many many years of service to King and Country, I’ve seen many a tragedy. I don’t know how you found out about the magical world, but - as you can imagine, there are many odd things out there. This however - this takes the cake.” 

He took another puff pensively. 

Brackenreid was exhausted. It was late. He was worried. His patience was wearing thin. 

“What, you’ve never seen an obscurus attack before?” 

Meyers choked on his inhale. He coughed, spewing ash and embers into the air. 

“How the hell-”

“I’ve been briefed, Meyers.”

“By whom?”

“Scamander, and the Goldstein sisters.” 

Meyers took a thoughtful puff at his pipe.

“Scamander. That name carries a lot of weight. I knew Auror Scamander - the senior. He was the very best I’ve ever seen. Tragic what happened to him. His eldest son is following well in his footsteps. The younger Mr. Scamander…”

“Is quite brilliant, Mr. Meyers. He caught on to quite a few things about this curious case, well before your aurors did.”

“If you’re talking about obscurials...We might have arrived at the same conclusion if you’d presented us with all the facts.” 

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, Meyers. Relationships are based on trust. You never paint us the full picture - you send us running into situations half-cocked. Spinning that bollocks about _international terrorist organisations.”_

“That wasn’t _bollocks_ , as you so colourfully put it -” 

“Grindelwatsis. Yeah, I heard.” 

Meyers looked at him carefully over his pipe.

“They were most thorough in their briefing it would seem.” 

“Meyers, any cop worth his salt would instantly recognize that Scamander’s not a terror extremist. The only extreme thing about him is his total lack of sock coordination, and his penchant for things with too many teeth.”

“I don’t think Scamander is involved with Grindelwald.”

“No? Then why did your mate Graves try to have him executed for it?”

“WHAT?” 

“Aye - Scamander and Auror Goldstein were very nearly killed earlier. Without so much trial. Your _aurors_ are hunting them down as traitors. He tried to have Watts obliviated as a co-conspirator, even though it was you and Graves that brought Watts into this in the first place. It would appear Graves has gone rogue.” 

Meyers looked horrified. 

“Inspector, do you know where they are right now?”

“They’ve gone to hunt down the obscurus. What you lot should have been doing all along.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I only just found out myself.”

“How? They were here?” 

Brackenreid shot him a look that said _OBVIOUSLY_. 

A groan was heard from the alley. 

“Excuse me a moment,” said Brackenreid as he stalked off. 

Meyers raised an eyebrow in confusion. Then he heard the sound of a fist colliding with something like a face, another groan, and a resounding thump. Brackenreid returned looking smug.  
  
“You’ll want to get that git Samson some assistance. It appears he’s hit his head. Twice. And while you’re at it, investigate him for excessive force and dodgy dealings.”

Meyers balked. 

“Make this right Meyers, or so help me, I’ll take this all the way to the King Himself.” 

Meyers nodded. He emptied out his pipe in the alley and snuffed out the embers with the sole of his patent leather shoe. He stowed the pipe back in his pocket and pulled out his wand. Brackenreid was instantly at arms, his fists at the ready.

Meyers lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

“Be easy, Brackenreid. We’re on the same side here. Relationships are based on trust, no? That goes two ways.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not quick to trust a magical spy.” 

Meyers grinned, “You’re forgiven. Come on, then Inspector. We’ve got much work to do.” Then grabbing onto Brackenreid’s arm, and a smug smirk, he apparated with a crack. 

  
  


* * * * * * * 

In the wee hours Tina and Newt followed Credence’s meandering trail of destruction from the ward, through Cabbagetown, and further north still, all the way to the Don Valley. At a certain point, Newt threw caution to the wind, and pulled Tina behind a dumpster before reaching into his case and pulling out his old broom. 

“Do you really think that’s wise?” she asked.

“It will take us forever to follow him on foot. We’ll be better apt to see the damage from above. It’s the dead of night, and honestly, being seen by muggles is the least of our worries right now…” 

Tina looked conflicted, but finally she nodded. Newt mounted the broom, and Tina slipped on behind him.

They took off silently and were soon above the clouds. 

_He had a point_ , thought Tina. From above, they could see Credence’s determined trek towards the Don Valley, and travelling _As the Obscurus Flies_ was certainly quicker than meandering through streets and alleyways. 

They managed to trace the obscurus to the Don Valley Brickworks Plant, but not beyond. Newt circled the complex once, looking for any signs of life before carefully landing in the courtyard beside the towering smokestack. 

He and Tina cautiously dismounted, wands at the ready, silent as a grave. At the sound of footsteps, they ducked quickly behind a stack of crates. Not a second later, the night watchman passed, shining his torch about. Tina and Newt held their breaths. Eventually he moved on, though they remained covered as they watched him make his way back to the guardhouse. They only relaxed when they heard the sounds of a phonograph begin to play.

A quiet _ding_ like a small bell rang from Tina’s pocket. She slipped a small silver mirror from her pocket. Smiling at Newt’s puzzled expression, and spoke into the mirror - 

“Queenie?” 

“Tina!” came a tinny voice from the mirror. Newt craned his neck and was surprised to see Queenie’s face instead of his and Tina’s reflections. 

“Two-way mirror!” said Newt, “Brilliant!” 

“Are you both alright?” asked Queenie. 

“Yes!” said Tina quickly, “How about you?”

“We’re all okay here, thanks to Inspector Brackenreid and his fists. Where are you? Have you found Credence?”

“We’ve tracked him to Don Valley Brickworks. We’ve only just arrived…”

“Be there in a moment!” said Queenie and the connection ended.  
  
“Queenie, wait!” said Tina. She groaned. "Why does no one ever listen to me?"

* * * * * * * 

Queenie ended the call and grinned up at her muggle friends. Murdoch stared at the mirror transfixed. 

“What brilliant idea! A device that allows for visual and auditory communication simultaneously! A tele-kineto-phone.” The gears in his brilliant mind were turning as he began to dream up of how he could best replicate it using non-magical means.

“Too many syllables, Sir,” said George. “How about - Image-telephone. Image phone. Or I. Phone, for short!”

Watts cleared his throat. 

“Perhaps we should table this idea for a later time, Sir...Queenie, can you get us to the Don Valley Brickworks?” asked George sheepishly.

Queenie smiled, “Luckily I’ve been there before on official business.” She extended an arm. They all grabbed on.

In no time at all a sharp CRACK echoed across the empty buildings. 

Tina winced and glanced at the night watchman’s cabin. He didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Have you located Credence?” asked Murdoch to Newt. 

“Not just yet,” said Newt, “But I’d like to check that broken window up ahead...I’m surprised the Night Watchman didn’t notice it…” he nodded towards a window in the largest building. It appeared to have been smashed in. “Wait here.” 

“Newt, I’m not too sure you should go...I’m trained for this sort of thing…stealth training…” said Tina.

“So am I,” said Newt wryly, “Magizoology.” He winked, then he crept noiselessly along the perimeter of the courtyard to the window. Crouching down, he cast a quick glance around, before peering in. 

Inside the cavernous plant, the obscurus churned, a small tornado of pain and anguish. Bricks were tossed about like leaves, and they smashed into machinery and furniture. Loudly. Newt winced. He had no idea how the watchman hadn’t noticed yet, but he prayed that his obliviousness continue.

He slipped back down the wall. Then, turning, he waved his friends over, and they snuck over to him one-by-one. When they were all gathered, Newt spoke in hushed tones.

“The obscurus is inside.”  
  
“Is Credence okay?” asked George. 

Newt looked at him sadly, “He’s absorbed into the obscurus’s form right now.” He nodded to the window. They all peeked into the room, then slipped back to the ground, looking wide-eyed and pale. 

“What are we going to do?” asked Watts. Newt looked up at him sadly. He sought his salamander eyes and found comfort in their chocolatey depths. 

There was so much he longed to say to Llewellyn. He hoped if everything went well, if his theories were correct, that he’d have the opportunity to say them yet. If not…

Well. 

Newt glanced down at his case, and held it in his hands a moment. Then he looked up at Watts and handed the case to him.

He couldn’t meet Llewellyn’s eyes; he couldn’t bear witness to the look of absolute shock and horror that crossed Llewellyn’s expressive face. For all his alleged social obliviousness, Llewellyn recognized a goodbye only too clearly.

“If it all goes pear-shaped, please take care of my creatures,” he said to Watt’s knees, “I trust you with them...and you George, and the rest of you, and that’s…” he cleared his throat, “That’s the highest compliment I’m capable of paying to another human...if anything happens to me...My notes are all there. Please promise me.”

Watts didn’t trust himself to speak. He just looked at Newt open-mouthed.  
  
“I thought you said you knew what you’re doing,” said Murdoch.

“I have theories,” said Newt, “Perfectly viable theories that I’m sure could work. Should work. But just in case they don’t, in case something goes wrong-”

“Nothing will go wrong,” interrupted George, “Think positive, Sir.” Said George, tapping his head. 

Newt almost sobbed. 

“Even with the leucrotta, I had a plan B -”

“Helmet?” asked George.

“Helmet,” agreed Newt, “But in lieu of a helmet...please, promise me-”

He risked a glance at Watts, and then wished he hadn’t. Watts looked on the verge of tears. 

Newt swallowed. 

“It’ll all be fine, Mr. Scamander,” said Queenie quickly “You’ve got all of us.” 

Newt nodded. He cast one last glance at Watts, then squared his shoulders and climbed in through the broken window. 

“Did he have his wand out?” asked Tina, as she looked in after him.

“No, he’s empty-handed,” said Murdoch, his stomach sinking. So far, Mr. Scamander’s brilliant plans seemed to involve walking up to a raging creature utterly unarmed. 

Tina sighed nervously.

The Obscurus didn’t notice him at first, but when it did it began to roar and spin faster.

Newt had dropped to his knees before the swirling maelstrom. 

“Hi, Credence...It’s Credence, isn’t it?” he said softly, “I remember we met earlier. First at City Hall, and then again at the Station House, but I know we didn’t have a chance to chat. Perhaps now we can? My name is Newt. Newt Scamander. And I’m a lot like you. I’m a wizard.”

The obscurus shrieked, and churned even more violently. 

“Sodd this,” said Watts, and handing the case off to George, he leapt in after Newt.  
  
“DETECTIVE! WAIT!” shouted Tina after him, as Murdoch and George gasped.  
  
"URGH! NO ONE EVER LISTENS TO ME!" Tina pulled out her wand and made to follow, but Queenie grabbed her arm.  
  
“Wait!”

“Credence!” Said Watts loudly as he made his way across the room to Newt. “Do you remember me, lad? I’m Detective Llewellyn Watts. I’m an orphan too…”

Newt extended his hands placatingly, “Credence. You are safe here...with me and Detective Watts. You are safe with us...we’re not going to hurt you. We just want to talk. We just want to speak with you. To help you, heal your hurts. I’m a wizard, Credence...just like you. And I know what it’s like to feel alone and afraid, and to be hurt...can I come closer to you? Can I come over?”

Watts understood Newt’s brilliant, stupid, foolish plan that instant, and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to shake him or snog him senseless. Either way there would be very little sense involved. 

Instead, he addressed Credence. Opening his heart to the boy. Saying what he wished he had heard when he was young and in pain.

“I know what it’s like to be abandoned, to be alone, so very alone. To witness violence and suffering - to be victim to such violence...to see the very very worst of humanity,” said Watts softly, “I know what that horrid woman did to you. And you don’t deserve any of it. You don’t deserve that hate and pain. You deserve to be loved and to be cherished, and cared for. You are so very special.”

The intensity of the storm seemed to decrease, the churning slowed and the strands of smoke began to withdraw.

Watts finally reached Newt, and sat down beside him on the floor beside him, crossing his legs with a forced sense of calm, as if they were sitting down to a picnic. 

“I knew a little girl just like you, Credence. A girl I met in Sudan - she’d been imprisoned in a shed, beaten and tortured by her family as punishment for her magic. They did not understand it, they did not understand her. Instead of loving and supporting her, they treated her with hate and violence. She did not deserve their abuse, because Magic is not a bad thing. You are not wicked or evil. Your power is not something to be feared, but to be embraced. Fire can burn painfully, but it can also provide light. It can cook our food and keep us warm in the winter. And magic is a lot like that. I know your heart, Credence...You are good,” said Newt gently.

“So good, so brave, so strong...you’ve tried so hard, lad, to survive so long with all this pain, you are a miracle, Credence,” said Watts softly. 

Murdoch, George, Queenie and Tina watched on in awe as Newt and Watts spoke to the obscurus. The plan was so brilliant, so simple, so risky. They bore their souls to the boy - the purest form of humanity - the capacity to understand, to empathize, and to love. 

It appeared to work. The swirling mass stilled, the air became calm. Slowly the smoke and storm receded, and they could see through the darkness, the boy. He was hunched on himself and trembling, but he was so alive, and so very human. 

Newt’s eyes were fixed on Credence. He slipped out his wand, and glanced at Watts. His eyes were soft and warm and filled with love. Newt's heart swelled and he grinned. With the confidence of George Crabtree trying to pass for French, Newt cast his _patronus charm_. 

The kelpie burst forth, dazzling and bright, it danced around the room, and the obscurus froze, observing it transfixed. It drew close to Credence, and the obscurus shrank back. The patronus nuzzled the boy gently with its nose, its ghostly main blowing wildly.

Credence never felt such joy in his life. It was pure bliss - pure love, and it warmed him inside and out. His heart felt like it was about to burst with happiness. He felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life. He drew deep gasping breaths that warmed him and nourished him, like the first drink of water for a man dying of thirst. 

Credence opened his eyes, and the obscurus began to fade, withdrawing and withering back into him. The boy spotted Newt and Watts sitting on the floor, barely an arm’s distance away. They were smiling at him, with no judgement or fear or hate - just pure love.

Credence felt his face shift, his cheek muscles pulled back, and he was puzzled. His still-smokey hands flew to his face. Was he _smiling_? The Barebones children never smile. The weight of the moment hit him like a ton of bricks. He grinned at Newt, and Newt grinned back. Newt reached out a hand for Credence to take, to pull him into an embrace, and for the first time in his short miserable life, Credence laughed. The bubble of joy escaped him, beyond his control, and before he knew it, he was laughing and crying simultaneously. Newt pulled the boy to him, cradling him against his chest and engulfed him in an embrace, holding him close. He didn’t speak - didn’t quite know what to say, but he wanted to shower the boy with some of the love and compassion he’d been deprived of all his life. If his tears joined Credence’s, no one said a word. If Watts himself got misty-eyed it only made Newt smile more widely. Watts extended a hand, and ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, then gently rubbed his back in a way that he hoped was soothing. 

It was. 

Credence felt like he was in heaven. He finally cried himself out. He slowly pulled away from Newt and looked at them with dark, swollen eyes. His features still blurred as the obscurus re-settled inside him, but he looked as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

For the first time in his life, Credence felt happy. He felt safe. He felt...home.

Newt smiled at him gently. “My brave young man.” 

If Credence had known about patronus charms at that moment, he would have recognized that moment for what it was - a patronus-worthy memory.

Unfortunately, that moment didn’t last long. 

A crash sounded in the distance, and a man leapt out from the shadows, wand raised. 

Newt barely had time to tackle Watts and Credence to the ground before the hexes rained down on them. He cast a hasty shielding charm, but was knocked backwards with the tremendous force of one of the curses. It blasted a hole in the floor beside him. 

A series of cracks outside announced the arrival of the Auror forces. 

“MOVE!” Newt shouted, grabbing Watts and Credence roughly, and pulling them behind a massive brick column for cover. 

“Get your own plaything, Scamander. Credence Barebone belongs to me…” came an oily voice Newt scrambled to his feet, wand trained on Graves. 

Watts grabbed on to Credence and hugged him close, trying to shield him as best he could. 

Graves blasted Newt with a volley of curses and hexes, which Newt could only just block. With Newt on the defensive, Graves took the opportunity to slam Watts and Credence with a powerful jinx. They were thrown apart - limp as rag dolls, they soared across the room. Watts crashed bonelessly into some machinery, Credence against the floor in the middle of the cavernous hall. Graves laughed coldly and began to attack Credence. 

“CREDENCE, RUN!” shouted Newt. He threw himself (and a mighty powerful shield charm) between Graves and Credence. It seemed to hold for a moment before shattering under the relentless assault.  
  


Newt hit Graves with a series of complicated jinxes, which caused him to lose his concentration and stumble. But Graves was not beaten so easily. He was ruthless with his blasting. The aurors began to pour in. Queenie and Tina stood no chance against the multitude. In no time, they had surrounded them as well as Murdoch and George.

Graves blasted Newt off his feet again, then spun around and hit Credence with the _Cruciatus_ _Curse_. Newt struggled to his feet as the boy fell to the floor, shrieking in pain. In an instant the obscurus began to seep out swirling angrily as it grew. 

“STOP! YOU’RE HURTING HIM!” shouted Newt, and he blasted Graves with a nasty hex that sent him flying backwards.  
  
“CREDENCE!” Newt shouted, but it was too late. The obscurus groaned and expanded, its rage and pain so palpable that the very air in the room vibrated with it. 

Watts desperately tried to pull himself up as he started in horror at the scene before him. 

Graves laughed cruelly, and hit the obscurus with spell after spell as the obscurus roared.  
  
“Come ON! SHOW ME WHAT YOU’RE MADE OF!” 

The obscurus lashed out at Graves, but he was too fast for it. His powerful shield charm deflected the blow, but the bricks littered around him on the floor turned to dust. 

The aurors watched on in horror, unsure of what to do as the obscurus raged. 

A few of them took their wands off of Newt and the others and pointed them at the obscurus. Someone fired a spell.

“NO!” shouted Graves, getting between them and the obscurus, “NO! Wands down! No one hurt him. If any of you fire at him, you answer to me!” 

Another crack announced the arrival of yet more magicals. 

“Aurors, on my orders, fire at will at the obscurus,” came a voice from the crowd. A hush fell over the crowd. 

“No wait!” said Newt desperately 

“NO!” shrieked Graves. 

“FIRE!” 

In the end, the obscurus did not stand a chance. The full-frontal assault of the Auror Forces of Ontario tore the obscurus to shreds like paper.

“NO! CREDENCE!!” Shouted Newt, and he fell to the floor, in anguish. He covered his mouth with his hands as he broke down in tears. Watts grabbed his arm and rested a hand on his shoulder, holding him up, eyes watering, throat too tight to speak. 

“How COULD YOU?” shrieked Graves. He wheeled around at the gathered aurors. None of them could meet his eyes. “You FOOLS! Do you realize what you’ve DONE?!”

“What was done was done on _MY_ orders, Mr. Graves,” came the same voice that had ordered the aurors to fire. 

The silent aurors parted. Down the middle of the auror forces strode a woman. She was resplendently dressed in ornate purple robes. She walked, her head held high, her back ram-rod straight. Walking three paces behind her was Terrance Meyers, wand at the ready. Followed by… _INSPECTOR BRACKENRIED?_

Whispers followed as they passed.

“Madam Prime Minister,” said Graves with venom in his voice.

So _this_ was the Right Honorable Willow King, the Magical Prime Minister of Canada. From her dark eyes, to her sharp features, to her rich voice, like velvet - she exuded power. 

“Mr. Graves, do you find fault with my decision?”

“History will remember you for it - what happened here was not right.”

“That beast was responsible for the death of several muggles, and for very nearly exposing our world and endangering the Statute of Secrecy - our most sacred laws.” 

“Laws that have us scuttering like rats in the gutter - laws that demand us to conceal our natures, forcing us to cower in fear lest our true identities are discovered. I ask you, Madam King - I ask you all gathered here this night...who do these laws protect? Us? Or them?” He turned with anger at Watts whose grip tightened on Newt’s arm. Then he turned on Murdoch and George who stood beside Tina and Queenie. Lastly he wheeled on Brackenreid. The Inspector's eyes narrowed, and he clenched and unclenched his fists as if longing to acquaint them with Mr. Graves.

Tina’s face was one of betrayal and disbelief, her eyes fixed on Graves 

“I refuse to bow down any longer,” he said finally, twirling his wand in his fingers. 

Tina and Newt had their wands on Graves in an instant. Tina leapt in front of the Minister King as Graves turned and fired and Newt parried his blow with a powerful shield charm. They were off, duelling, moving at lightning speed.

“Aurors, arrest Mr. Graves,” commanded Madam King. But no one moved, so transfixed they were with the duel that moved with the fluidity and choreography of a dance. No one dared get between them. Newt parried another blow, and retaliated with another that Graves awkwardly dodged. With Graves distracted, Newt narrowed his eyes and waved his wand. The broken bricks rose into the air, transforming into a humongous flock of birds. They swelled and swooped around the room in a murmuration that engulfed Graves and brought him to his knees. Tina was at Newt’s side in an instant. She deftly disarmed Graves, and covered him with her wand. 

“There’s a slight problem, Madam Prime Minister - this is not Mr. Graves,” said Newt.

“What do you mean?” she demanded. 

The man who called himself Graves glared at Newt viciously. Newt pointed his wand at Graves, determined and ruthless. He shouted “REVELIO!” 

There were several gasps and cries along the crowd. 

Graves face melted into the terrifying visage of none other than Gellert Grindelwald. 

“Who is that?” asked George softly to Queenie. 

“Grindelwald, the Evil Wizard - the terrorist he accused Newt of following this whole time…”

“What a devious villain!” 

Grindelwald laughed.

“Do you really think you can hold me?” he asked of Madam King. 

“We will certainly do our best...Meyers!” 

“Ma’am,” he said, instantly at her side. 

“Take this filth away.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

Watts turned around and pointed at four of the most trustworthy aurors. They immediately raced over and seized Grindelwald. Newt cancelled the transfiguration with a wave of his hand, the birds vanished in poofs of brick dust. 

Grindelwald looked at him with his head cocked to his side. 

“Will we die, just a little?”

Newt shot him a look of disgust. 

“That’s enough out of you,” snapped one of the aurors. They dragged him away from Newt and vanished with a Crack.

“Mr. Meyers, our next priority is to find Mr. Graves. We will put our best auror on it... Mr. Samson? ” she said, still looking at Meyers.

“Yes Ma’am,” said Samson running forward. He was sporting two spectacular black eyes, yet he still managed to somehow look smug. Queenie rolled her eyes. 

“Porpentina Goldstein will be taking the reins.”

Tina looked stunned. 

“Ma’am?” said Samson, utterly flabbergasted. He approached her, laughing condescendingly, “Surely such an important task should go to your Deputy Head Auror for the Province of Ontario. ”

“Precisely right.” 

Samson managed his “Ma’am….I am the Deputy Head Auror.” 

Madam King smiled cruelly.

“No, Samson, you _were_ the Deputy Head Auror. Auror Goldstein will have your job. Your services will no longer be required. Please turn in your badge to Mr. Meyers. Your desk will be cleared and your possessions sent along to your address.”

Samson was indignant. “But! But!”

Meyers steered him forcefully away from the Magical Prime Minister. 

“Ma’am?” asked Tina. 

“Auror Goldstein?”

“I don’t…”

“Do not insult yourself and me by finishing that sentence, Deputy Head Auror Goldstein. Of all the aurors in this department, you were the only one to notice that Graves was compromised. You did the right thing, rather than following his orders blindly. I task you to find Auror Graves, and when you do, I just might reward you with his job too. ”

Tina blushed furiously. New smiled at her sadly. 

“The rest of you,” she said turning at the gathered aurors - “Damage control. I want this place to look like nothing happened. Someone track down the muggle night watchman, make him believe he dreamt it all," she said pointing at one of the aurors. "You lot," she said pointing at another group, "Repair the obviously magical damages to the city…but not all of it. There's too many witnesses to the destruction. All we can do is control what they believe about what happened. Meyers!”

“Ma’am,” said Meyers nervously. 

“Get in touch with the press, and your Muggle contacts. Present the usual sort of cover story for what happened tonight.”

“Ball-lightning? Localized Tornado?”

“Surprise me.”

“Ma’am,” said Meyers with a quick bow.

The remaining aurors set out to follow Madam King’s orders. She turned to Brackenreid and winked. 

Brackenreid smiled and made his way over to Murdoch, George and Queenie. 

“Sir, how…” began Murdoch.

“Top secret, Me Ol’ Mucker.”

George smiled weakly.

Halfway across the room, Watts stood silently beside a heartbroken Newt. Both watched the last flakes of the obscurus as they dissipated up the chimney. Newt bowed his head, and he seemed to be curling in on himself. He was miles away, his mind somewhere dark and broody. George approached cautiously, as Watts gently lay a hand on Newt’s shoulder. Newt turned towards them, his eyes filled with tears. He blinked them away roughly, wiping at his face angrily. 

Watts nodded, his throat also too tight to speak. He smiled sadly.

“You were so close, Newt,” said George softly.

“Doesn’t matter does it? Bloody trigger-happy Aurors.”

George cleared his throat and nodded over Newt’s shoulder. 

Madam King and Meyers made their way over to him.

“Why did you have to kill him?” Newt said, in a voice too tired and pained for a man so young, “He was just a child. A child who suffered more pain and abuse than any child ever should. And you know just as well as I do that he was not in control, that it was the obscurus.”

“Brilliant though you may be in matters of magical creatures, Mr. Scamander, no one has successfully separated an obscurial from an obscurus. They’re precious rare already, thank goodness," said Madam King.

“Newt almost succeeded, if not for Grindelwald's intervention.” snapped Watts. 

The Prime Minister didn’t look at Watts. She just stared more carefully at Newt before stating, “We appear to be in debt to you, Mr. Scamander….though I’m afraid unofficially, officially this never happened...Inspector, Detectives, Constable, thank you for the part you played in saving the city. Unfortunately yours is also a debt of which no one can know. Obliviate the muggles, Meyers.”

Queenie gasped and grabbed George’s arm in horror, “No!”

“Ma’am? Surely not!” Said Inspector Brackenreid.

“I’m afraid it’s the only way. Our secrets must be kept. It’s nothing personal, it’s merely the most prudent course of action.”

“ _Actually_ , Madam Prime Minister, with all due respect, perhaps it would be more prudent to allow them to keep their memories this time…” interrupted Newt, his voice steely, his eyes intense. “Meyers believed them to be trustworthy and capable enough to involve them in this investigation. They were integral in unravelling and solving the mystery when, if you’ll forgive me, your own aurors failed to do so...

And as you said, this never happened. Therefore, there is nothing to obliviate - because admitting that there _is_ something to obliviate would mean having to admit to the grave mistakes made by the Canadian Magical Government - overlooking a powerful magical child, a fourteen-year-old who should have been picked up and placed in a magical training institution years ago - the gross negligence and incompetence that condemned him, by your government, to unspeakable abuse, and whose actions resulted in his untimely death...A government who wasn’t able to realize that their top law enforcement officer was missing and replaced by an imposter…and not just any imposter mind...an internationally reviled dark wizard of great notoriety...but like you said, nothing happened. So there’s no need for anyone to be obliviated.”

She narrowed her eyes and was silent for a long while. Newt met her eyes unflinchingly, his eyebrows slightly raised in challenge.

“I’ve underestimated you, Mr. Scamander. You have the makings of a fine politician...are you sure you weren’t a Slytherin?” 

“Hufflepuff through and through, Ma’am.” 

She raised her eyebrows.

“So…” prompted Newt.

“Get them out of my sight Mr. Scamander.”

They left quickly before she changed her mind.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very long one!
> 
> It’s been a month since I started posting this here!
> 
> I hope you like it :) 
> 
> I believe that an Obscurus is the opposite of a patronus - one is caused by repressed hate, fear, and anguish, one is the embodiment of joy and love.
> 
> If you can teach the Obscurial self love and self acceptance, I think you could heal them. 
> 
> Willow King is a direct reference to William Lyon Mackenzie King who was PM of Canada in 1925. In my mind, she went to Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin.
> 
> I'm 99% sure that William Murdoch will invent the iPhone in the next few seasons. I figured we might as well hop to it now. 
> 
> Newt and Llewellyn would be such amazing, eccentric, wonderful parents. How much fun would they be? Just supportive and philosophical..."If your friends wanted to jump off a bridge, would you think that to be a logical and practical thing to do? Surely there is better use for your time and energy." Those children would speak a million languages and would have zero sense of self-preservation. 
> 
> I basically just keep writing whatever I find amusing...
> 
> Ball lightning. Allegedly that's what they think caused the mysterious Bell Island Boom. It's one of the more common explanations for "paranormal activities" 
> 
> I have another couple of scenes I cut from this mega-chapter and reworked elsewhere. There are a couple of more chapters to go - resolutions, touchy-feely fluff stuff...just a bit more playing around with these lovely characters. I'm also contemplating a sequel. I don't quite know. This was a year-long project...let's see what 2021 brings. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you're enjoying it :) Drop a line if you'd like. I love hearing your thoughts!
> 
> A big hug, 
> 
> Talia


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a picnic is had.

**Chapter 19**

They departed the Don Valley Brickworks Factory complex, and made their way down along the industrial rail tracks to a secluded copse of trees. Nearby, toads croaked in a lily pond, and crickets chirped in the warm night air. Here, far away from the glistening street lamps, one could see stars twinkling merrily in the heavens. Though it was still obscenely hot, being outside of that suffocating room made Newt feel a little better. He breathed a sigh, still feeling incredibly empty inside. _That poor boy_.

Watts gave his arm a gentle squeeze. 

“Mr. Scamander, that was some bargaining back there. Bordering on blackmail…” said the Inspector cheekily.

“It wasn't blackmail, Inspector. There were no explicit demands of threats. I was merely pointing out some facts,” said Newt cagily.

“Easy there. I merely meant to say that I couldn’t have handled it better myself.” 

“Sir, will you ever tell us what happened?” asked Murdoch.

“Perhaps in the morning, Murdoch. Right now, I’m bloody knackered.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, how about we meet at the beach? We’ll have us a nice picnic and exchange stories. What do you say?” asked George with a grin.

“Surely we’ll have to tie up the loose ends of the case? We have two more dead bodies, all the destruction…”

“I think you’ll find Mr. Meyers will tie those ends for you in an elegant bow. It’s the least he can do after all that’s happened,” said Queenie.

“But-” started Murdoch.

“Besides, a picnic sounds lovely, Georgie. I’ll make pasties, and some dessert! You _must_ try my cake bites! There’s a whiskey-chocolate flavoured one that bites back,” she said with a wink.

“That sounds delightful!” said Brackenried excitedly. 

“I’ll have to pass,” said Tina - “I’m going to begin searching for Mr. Graves first thing in the morning.” 

“Right, I believe congratulations are in order, Deputy Head Auror Goldstein,” said Newt with a smile, “I can’t think of any auror more deserving of that promotion.” 

She blushed.

“I’m just glad that that man wasn’t Mr. Graves. I couldn’t stand the thought that he…” she trailed off, obviously affected. 

Newt nodded understandingly.  
  
Tina cleared her throat, “Well, I’m heading home for a bath and bed...Inspector, Detective...can I drop you off anywhere?”

“If you don’t mind, Auror Goldstein...I doubt we’ll find a cab this late at night and the streetcars are not running.”

“Not at all, Detective.”

Brackenreid didn’t look too pleased.

“I’m not a fan of this disappearing thing…but I suppose needs must. Could you drop us off at Station House Four?” 

Tina nodded. With a crack, the three of them disappeared. 

Queenie turned to George, “I’ll drop you off anywhere you’d like to go, Georgie. Just one moment.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.  
  
“Bunny, I realize you probably never got in touch with that hotel I told you about earlier. So I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty.” She handed Newt a slip of paper. 

“Hand that to the night clerk - don’t say anything, unless...how’s your French?” She leaned in conspiratorially, “I booked the Ambassador’s Suite at the King Edward - with a delightfully luxurious en-suite bathroom for the Ambassador and his _attach_ _é_.” She winked at Watts and elbowed him playfully in the side.  
  
“Attaché doesn’t mean what you seem to be implying...” said Watts.

“Whatever do you mean?” said Queenie with feigned innocence. “Perhaps not always. In this case, I’m not making any suggestions or insinuations...I’m merely _informing_ you that I’ve booked a glorious suite,” she said with another suggestive wink, “On the _Muggle and International Relations Office’s_ dollar - Have a soak in a giant tub and a sleep on delectable silk sheets and feather down pillows...I even arranged for a decadent breakfast...featuring amongst other things, a bottle of champagne and some of their famous _mille-feuilles._ It’s the least we can do for you after all you’ve done for us.” 

She met Newt’s eyes and despite her teasing tone, there was a genuine look of sincere care and admiration in her eyes.

Newt chucked.  
  
“Thank you Queenie.” 

“Don’t thank me, Bunny. I’d say thank Mr. Meyers, but...as you’ve said, nothing happened. So there’s really no need for thanks.” 

She laughed again, and snaked her arm under George’s. They vanished with a pop. 

Finally alone in the dark, Watts slipped his hand into Newt’s and gave it a squeeze. He looked at Newt intensely. Newt blushed.  
  
“You don’t have to...that is, I don’t expect you to...I mean, I can drop you off at your boarding house if you want...now that I know where it is...what Queenie implied...I don’t...I wasn’t...I mean, I...” he stammered awkwardly. 

“Go back to my boarding house?” asked Watts incredulously, “And pass up on a long soak and a sleep on luxurious silk sheets and feather pillows?” His faked indignation totally diffused Newt’s sense of awkwardness at the situation. Newt chucked weakly.

“Besides,” continued Watts, “What kind of attaché would I be to leave you to drink a whole bottle of champagne for breakfast on your own.”

Newt swallowed hard, “A truly heartless one.”

Watts grinned, “I hear the chantilly cream in the King Edward’s _mille-feuille_ is to die for.” 

Newt replied, “Well then, what kind of Ambassador would I be to deprive my attaché of death-worthy French pastries.” 

Watts laughed, "A truly heartless one. Shall we?”

Imitating Queenie’s gesture, Newt linked his arm through Watts’s. 

He hesitated.  
  
“Er- Llewellyn, where is the King Edward?” 

Watts laughed. “If you can get us to Union Station or City Hall, I can guide us from there.” 

* * * * * * * 

At the King Edward, the night clerk looked over Queenie’s document and smiled at Newt and Llewellyn.   
  
“Everything seems to be in order, Ambassador Vidal, and Attaché Crabearbe, Welcome to Toronto!” Newt looked puzzled. Watts groaned internally, but quickly interjected, affecting a strong French accent, “Merci Beaucoup, Monsieur...pléase excusé, Monsieur Vidal’s Englísh is not véry göod. I am ‘is interpretér, in addition to béing ‘is attaché.”

“Right, Monsieur Crabearbe. My apologies, please welcome the Ambassador to Toronto on my behalf.” 

“Ambassadeur Vidal, le monsieur vous souhaite la bienvenue à Toronto,” said Watts nervously glancing at Newt, hoping he could at least fake French.

Newt looked carefully at Watts, “Je vous remercie. Veuillez exprimer ma gratitude. Je sais que je vais profiter de mon séjour dans cette charmante ville.”

Watts couldn’t help himself, he grinned widely. Turning to the night clerk he said, “The Ambássadór wíshes tó expréss hís gratitúde. ‘E loóks fórward tó enjóy yoúr chármíng cíty.” 

The night clerk smiled as well, "Absolutely splendid! One moment and I will fetch the ledger for you to sign and the keys to your suite!" 

Newt whispered at Watts, “Llewellyn, que diable se passe-t-il ici?”  
  
Watts muttered, “J'expliquerai plus tard. Croyez-moi ... ne vous inquiétez pas, griffonnez simplement de manière illisible."

Newt looked at him incredulously but scribbled something illegible in the guest book. Watts took the fountain pen next, and signed _George Crabearbe._ The night clerk returned, looking embarrassed. 

“I’m so sorry Mr. Crabearbe,” said the night clerk sheepishly, “There seems to have been some sort of mistake. The Ambassador’s Suite was already given to a...Monsieur Per...Per-Perrault.”

  
Watts assumed he was the French Ambassador with whom Meyers had been dining earlier. “Ah, oui. ‘E is Monsieur Vidal’s seniór colleague. Thére must ‘ave been some...eh...miscommunicatíon on oúr énd. We wére méant to arríve togethér bút were delayéd on busíness officíal. 

“Qu'est-ce qui se passe?” asked Newt.

“I cannot apologize enough,” said the night clerk nervously, “I wasn’t here when Mr. Perrault arrived.”

“Pléase, eet is nothíng. Do you ‘ave any other rooms available?”

In the end, there was in fact only one bedroom. With a singular bed. Newt groaned internally, convinced that somehow Queenie had managed to orchestrate this. 

The night clerk and the porter apologized profusely and sheepishly offered to bring in a roll-away cot. Watts graciously accepted, and calmed their worries explaining away the mishap on their inept secretary, _Regine D’Orianne_ , who would receive a stern talking-to upon their return to France. The roll-away cot was procured. Apologizes were once again directed at Newt before the hotel employees beat a hasty retreat.

When the door closed behind them with a definitive CLICK, Newt looked at Watts with his brows raised.  
  
“Care to let me in on this whole situation? I take it…”

“The Ambassador’s Suite was given to the actual French Ambassador. The one that Meyers dined with tonight. Here. At the King Edward.” 

“Right...and yet...somehow, I too am a French Ambassador?” 

“Monsieur Vidal...that was Murdoch’s alias when he pretended to be _THE_ French Ambassador...it’s how Queenie managed to trick Samson into letting us go.”

Newt nodded slowly. He still didn’t understand. 

“Je suis tellement contente que tu parles français," said Watts with a grin.

“Did Murdoch's pretend French Ambassador not speak French?” 

“Oh, no, Detective Murdoch is fluent. No...George Crabtree on the other hand…or as he was known, George Crabeabre….”

“Ah, yes. Literal translation. Clever.” 

“I thought so, Queenie handled herself magnificently. But alas, Poor George - Il ne parle pas français.”

Newt looked at Watts disbelievingly, then began to laugh. 

Watts laughed too. 

“The French attaché could not speak French?”

“No. Good Lord. You had to have been there. If I remember correctly, at one point, he exclaimed “Soufflé!” 

Newt laughed harder. It was a cathartic release after all the stress and sadness of the evening. He laughed until he had tears streaming down his face.

When they managed to get their laughter under control, Watts continued: “I told him that he made as convincing a Frenchman as you a jewellery thief.” 

New chucked again.

“Mais tu parles français." 

“Mais oui. Every respectable pureblood wizarding family makes sure their children speak au moins un peu français. It proved to be invaluable on my travels... though my mum wasn’t thinking about my adventuring abroad when she forced me to study French as a child. She thought it would be instrumental in my finding a respectable wife...well anyway…” he trailed off awkwardly. “Et toi?”

“I always had a penchant for languages. I think it came from having difficulty communicating as a child. I always wanted to make sure I could speak to anyone who wished to speak to me. Plus, French is the language of good food, of wine, of poetry, arts, music...love,” he shrugged “Nous voilà.“

“Indeed, here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed.” 

The silence stretched between them awkwardly. 

Newt, blushing furiously, quickly said, “Llewellyn, I’ll take the cot...you deserve the luxurious sheets and pillows. I’ve slept in many an odd and uncomfortable place. Or I can just as easily magic a second bed….I...”

“I don’t mind sharing,” said Watts quickly, interrupting Newt’s babbling. Watts glanced at Newt cautiously, “Do you mind?”

“No! No - I just...I thought, I...no. It’s fine. I mean...It’s better than fine...that is...I don’t mind.” 

Watts looked at Newt squirm in amusement for a moment before pulling him roughly to himself and silencing him with a kiss. Newt relaxed into Watts’s arms, and kissed him back just a fervently. Watts rested his forehead against Newt’s and smiled.  
  
“Newt...it’s all alright.” 

Newt met his eyes sheepishly, then slipped his arms around him. 

They stood there for a while, embracing, and sneaking the occasional kiss. Just relishing the fact that they were both alive and well and present together. They only broke apart when Newt unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a humongous yawn. 

“You must be exhausted. It’s very late,” said Watts. 

Newt offered Watts first turn at the luxurious bathroom while he slipped into his case to settle his creatures in for the night. 

“Do you need a hand, with your creatures, that is? You must be dead on your feet. I don’t mind,” said Watts, hesitating at the door to the bathroom. 

“Llewellyn, it’s all alright. I’ll be finished before you know it.” 

In the end, when Newt emerged from his case, Watts was already passed out on the bed, face-down on one of the silk pillows. Newt smiled to himself and watched him a moment...he looked so angelic and peaceful when he was asleep. Newt longed to run his fingers through Watt’s dark curls - still wet from the bath. Instead, he dried Watt’s hair with a quick wave of his wand. Then, he grabbed the second set of fancy pajamas, towels and bathrobe before heading to the bathroom to wash away the day’s adventures. 

As he relaxed in the warmth of the bath, he felt the exhaustion of the day creep in on him. He blearily watched the brick dust and dirt swirl their way down the drain, thinking, with a pang, of Credence. He felt mentally, physically, and emotionally spent.

He dried his hair, and in his exhausted state, very nearly brushed his teeth with a comb before shaking himself awake long enough to grab a toothbrush instead.

When he finally slipped into the silky sheets, he felt himself sigh in relief. Newt was fast asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

Llewellyn, deep as he was in dreamland, subconsciously snuggled closer to Newt, draping his arm protectively around him. And they slept on, lost to the world.

They still slept cuddled together long after the first rays of dawn touched the Toronto sky. It was only after the sun rose hot and bright over the city; after Tina left to begin her investigation into Percival Grave’s disappearance; after Murdoch returned from his early-morning mass to a lazy breakfast with Julia in their hotel suite; and after Brackenreid finished his breakfast and accompanied Margaret and the boys for a stroll in the park that Newt and Llewellyn finally woke to the hesitant knock at the door. The transition from sleep to wakefulness was sudden. Watts’s heart hammered loudly in his chest, and he immediately leapt from the bed onto the cot, and tried to make it look like he’d been there all night. 

Newt quickly rushed to open the door. A still bashful and apologetic porter handed him a breakfast tray featuring the promised champagne and pastries amongst other things before departing quickly. Newt shrugged and brought it into the room. Watts was sprawled on the cot, arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling pensively. 

Newt set the tray on the small table by the window. 

“You must be starving, Llewellyn...I believe the last we ate were those snowballs on the way to recapturing Leslie.”

Watts sat up abruptly, “I believe you’re right! Well, let’s not waste any more time.” 

He made his way over the table, paused a moment, then pecked Newt a quick kiss on the cheek as he’d seen many a couple do. “Good morning.” 

Newt blushed prettily. His face split in a goofy grin. “‘Morning” said Newt cheerfully. 

Watts slipped into the seat across from him, a grin mirroring Newt’s on his own face. 

“Shall I be mother?” asked Newt, reaching for the teapot.

“Please,” said Watts handing him his teacup, as he reached for the champagne. 

“Ruinart! Oh là là . Queenie has superb tastes.” He opened the bottle with a pop, and poured himself a taste in one of the hotel-provided crystal tulip champagne glasses, and held it up to the light, to see it better. He swirled it in his glass, then sniffed it, savouring the aroma. He took another sniff and nodded to himself, then he took a small sip and let it linger on his tongue. He swallowed it appreciatively

“Utterly flawless. Magnifique! Newt?” 

“Tea first for me, I’m afraid. I need to wake up. I could easily have slept another few hours...milk and sugar?” 

“Just milk, thanks,” said Watts, slipping the bottle back into the ice bucket. 

They feasted like royalty. Queenie was right, the chantilly cream _was_ exquisite. As were the scones, croissants, fresh fruit, cucumber sandwiches, and other assortment of treats. They chatted amiably as they ate and drank their fill. The conversation flowed naturally from topic to topic with ease. It felt as if they’d known each other their entire lives. They spoke of poetry, particularly poets of the Romantic Era, philosophy, politics, travel, religion, music, arts, food, drink, sprinkled in with questions and anecdotes about each other and their lives. 

Watts leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his left palm, he looked across the table to Newt, his eyes warm. He observed the way the sunlight illuminated Newt’s copper hair - how it seemed to glow with its own magic. How the bruises on his cherubic face from that brute Samson had faded significantly from Newt’s magic salve. Today, those sea-coloured eyes which could turn so stormy and steely when those he cared about were threatened were tranquil and limpid as a fairy pool. He grinned...Newt had a dollop of chantilly cream on his nose, and Watts certainly didn’t feel the need to tell him about it. Watts went to take a sip of his champagne only to find his glass empty. He tried to refill their glasses, frowning at the now-empty bottle “...there’s never enough good champagne.” 

Newt giggled, a little bit tipsy. The world seemed so bright and lovely this morning. Newt leaned across the table to kiss Watts thoroughly. 

“Ah Newt,” said Watts affectionately. He grabbed his napkin and wiped the chantilly cream from Newt’s nose, chuckling to himself, then from his own face where Newt had managed to smear it. 

Watts reached out his hand to caress Newt’s where it sat on the table. Newt intertwined their fingers together, and gently brought Watt’s hand to his mouth to plant a gentle kiss to his knuckles. 

A sharp tap on the door brought them back to reality. 

“Are they bringing us second breakfast as an apology?” asked Watts disbelieving. Newt got to his feet, unsteadily, still chuckling.

Watts laughed as well and continued, “I don’t think I could eat another bite...but I wouldn’t say no to a bit more champagne.” 

Newt opened the door a crack to reveal a beaming Queenie. 

“Are you decent?” 

Newt rolled his eyes and opened up the door.  
  
“You are incorrigible, Miss Goldstein.” 

Queenie laughed her musical laugh. She gracefully flopped into Newt’s vacated chair and stole the last _mille-feuille_ off Newt’s plate. 

“I came to see if you’re ready - we’re meeting the rest of the gang at Hanlan’s Point at one.”

“Nearly - we were merely having a leisurely breakfast,” said Newt.  
  
“I can see,” said Queenie suggestively. 

Newt blushed to the roots of his hair, “Not whatever you’re suggesting.” 

“I hope you actually got some sleep last night,” said Queenie, winking at Watts, who furrowed his brow.

“We did. We were so exhausted from the day's adventures that we'd have been hard pressed not to. The bed was most comfortable,” then he raised his eyebrows bemusedly, “Though, _Mademoiselle Regine_ , you double-booked the Ambassador’s suite, leaving a very bashful hotel staff to relegate the Ambassador and his attaché to a single bed…”

“Oh, how silly of me,” said Queenie insincerely, a mischievous grin on her face. 

Newt looked at her with raised eyebrows. _Meddlesome witch_.  
  
“That wasn’t very nice Mr. Scamander,” said Queenie with a laugh.

“I did ask you to please stop reading my thoughts.” 

“And I did tell you I can’t help it, Bunny,” she said seriously. 

Newt sighed. “In any case...Thank you Queenie. It was very kind of you. We very much appreciate it,” said Newt finally. 

“The champagne was exquisite,” agreed Watts, “And the food, phenomenal.” 

“And the company?” asked Queenie innocently, examining her nails. 

“In the words of The Bard himself, “Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.” 

“So the company was good?”

“Well, the wine was wonderful, the welcome great, the people…” he glanced up at Newt, “Utterly fantastic…” Newt blushed again as Queenie beamed. 

“...So it’s reasonable to postulate that the company was also in fact the very best.” 

“I’m so glad to hear,” said Queenie happily.  
  
“And your evening, Miss Goldstein?” asked Watts conversationally. 

“Queenie, please.”

“Very well, your evening, _Queenie_?”

“A lady does not kiss and tell.”

Watts laughed. 

“George is a fortunate man, Queenie.” 

“He is indeed, and a very happy one, I might add. Though, he’ll be much happier if we get to the beach in time. I’ll leave you to get ready and go call on Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden. Get ready, mind. No dawdling,” she said wagging a finger at each of them. Then with a wink, she was gone. 

* * * * * * * 

On many a scorching summer day, like 30th August, 1925, Hanlan’s Point was a popular escape from the heat for the citizens of fair Toronto. In just a short ferry ride, one could while away the afternoon in any of the island’s attractions. Some sought to cheer on The Maple Leafs at the Hanlan's Point Stadium. There were also restaurants, tea houses, bars, vaudeville and theaters to visit. Others sought excitement at the famous Hanlan’s Point Amusement Park with its carousel, roller coasters, swing rides, carnival games and side-show entertainments, like the freak show and _J.W. Gorman’s Diving Horses._ Still others, like George, Queenie and their friends, arrived to pass the day picnicking and lounging at the beaches, or taking a refreshing swim in Lake Ontario.

" _Diving horses_?” asked Newt with furrowed brow, as they passed a series of advertisement posters while disembarking from the ferry, “That doesn’t seem particularly humane.” 

“Oh, it’s quite a spectacle, Newt!” said George, as they made their way down to the beach. “According to the _Star Weekly_ , they leap into the water ‘without a whip and with the horses’ own volition!’ They’ve toured much of North America with the show! Let's set down, here’s as good a spot as any!”  
  
He set down the basket he was carrying under the shade of a tree, and spread a large flannel blanket on the sand.

“Wherever did you find such a blanket George? It fits us all comfortably,” said Julia sitting down. 

“Queenie helped,” said George with a grin as Queenie began to pass out pasties wrapped in waxed paper and carefully tied in brown string to each of them. “Enlargement charm,” she said with a grin. 

Newt sat down on the blanket near Watts, and he procured several bottles from his pockets, as everyone stared at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
“Undetectable expansion charms,” he said sheepishly. “And cooling charms,” he added as an afterthought. 

“What was it you said about not enchanting things that could easily fall into muggle hands?” asked Watts teasingly, as he took a bottle from Newt. 

Newt and Queenie smiled and pretended not to hear as Newt opened another bottle and offered it to Queenie.  
  
“Butterbeer?” 

“You’re a doll!” she said and took a sip with a sigh.

“This is Butterbeer!? This is utterly delicious!” said George excitedly. "I'd be happy to drink this any time with you, Queenie."

"Georgie!" she said, beaming radiantly.

“I dunno, I preferred the firewhisky,” said Brackenreid. 

Newt laughed. “I have some more of it if you’d like Inspector, though I daresay, it’s not the best thing to drink on a hot beach day. Detective?” he asked, offering a Butterbeer to Murdoch.

“I’d rather not.” 

“Oh William, do try it. It’s delicious,” said Julia.

“Very low alcohol content, Detective. Almost like a spruce beer,” said Watts. 

Murdoch looked at their expectant faces. 

  
“Very well,” he said, reaching for the bottle. 

“That’s the spirit!” said Brackenreid with a cheer.  
  


They had a lovely afternoon, feasting on Queenie’s cooking, and washing it down with Newt’s seemingly endless supply of Butterbeers. Even Newt and Watts who were still full from their decadent breakfast still managed to taste everything.

They exchanged stories about their adventures from the day before. The tale of George and Leslie the Leucrotta had the Inspector and Queenie in stitches. 

“So, how did you come to meet Madam King?” asked Murdoch to Brackenreid. 

“Well, you lot left me without a word most of the day. When it started to get late and I still hadn’t heard from you, I began to worry. Meyers showed up around the same time we received word of the destruction at The New Salem Society. We ended up there together. I let him in on Mr. Scamander’s obscurus theories, told him what you’d told me about Graves and Samson, and then...what was that turn of phrase you used, Scamander? ‘I merely pointed out some facts’ and made some suggestions. He’s a pompous git, but he’s an effective bugger when he puts his mind to it. He drag-along disappeared with me directly to the Magical Prime Minister’s office in Ottawa. Can you imagine? Travelling 200 miles. Like that!” he snapped. “It wreaked havoc on my stomach to be honest. I nearly lost my dinner. That tosser laughed.” Brackenreid shook his head. 

“But we made it Madam King’s office. She’s a powerful woman. Beautiful. Dangerous. All the things you hope to find in a woman. And a leader. We explained it all to her, and she immediately got to action. Spoke to some people and then…” he snapped again. “We were back at Don Valley Bricks.” 

Watts watched Newt as the Inspector spoke... he deflated and hunched in on himself. Newt’s eyes grew sad. Watts longed to slip an arm over Newt’s shoulders, to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright, or at the very least to hold his hand as he obviously was struggling with guilt, sorrow, regret, and anger. 

Queenie glanced at Watts and shot him a sad smile, then she said, “You were fantastic, Newt.”

He looked resolutely down at his hands as he fiddled with the sand, letting it slip from his fingers and trickle back down to earth. In his mind’s eye, he saw Credence, and the sand became brick dust, and his fingers the tendrils of the obscurus and for a moment, he was reliving that horrific moment in which that young life was lost. 

“Don’t blame yourself, Bunny! There was nothing you could have done!” she continued.  
  
“I should have done more. Should have seen it sooner. I could have saved him.” 

“None of that, lad,” said the Inspector in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, things will go wrong. It’s always rough, it’s always painful. You can’t save everyone. You tried so hard, and you’ve done so much good. Your conscience should be clear.” 

Newt shrugged. Brackenreid gruffly slapped Newt on his back. 

Suddenly, they heard shrieks, and two young boys came sprinting out of the water. They were all at attention instantly. 

“Oy, lads - what happened?” asked Brackenreid. 

“There’s something in the water! A monster! As big as a horse with massive teeth!” and they ran away as fast as their legs could carry them. 

Newt sprang to his feet and took off in the opposite direction, towards the water. 

The rest of the group got to their feet and raced after Newt. “It’s like your lake monster all over again, William!” said Julia. 

Newt had made his way to the edge of the pier and scrambled over the wooden beams and piles. 

He froze disbelieving, glancing back over his shoulder at his friends gathered on the shore, and laughed, rather hysterically. He took off his jacket, his vest, and his shoes and left them on the shore. 

They looked at him utterly confused, and a bit concerned. 

“Newt? Are you alright?” asked George.

“SQUIRRELS, SPARROWS AND GEESE MY HAT,” he shouted, then put his wand in his mouth, opened his case and, laying it down on a support beam, he dove into the water. 

“Newt?!” asked Watts. They all ran to the water’s edge. There was no sign of Newt. The seconds ticked by and still he did not resurface. Watts felt the panic begin to build. 

All of a sudden there was a roiling strew of bubbles, and Newt burst above the surface of the waves, riding a…

“KELPIE?!” asked Brackenreid, utterly stunned.  
  
Newt laughed, and guided the water horse over to them. As they approached the case, Newt leapt off the creature, catching himself on the pier’s supports. The kelpie snorted and threw back his head and whinnied, before being sucked into Newt’s case. 

Newt scrambled back across the beams, still chucking to himself.  
  
“A bloody kelpie...in Lake Ontario?” Said Brackenreid, utterly astonished. 

“I did not know what to expect when I came to Toronto, but it has most certainly not disappointed. Sweet Merlin! A kelpie in Lake Ontario…” he shook his head grinning like mad.

He looked like a wet puppy, his copper hair plastered to his face. He was dripping from his red bow tie to his mismatched socks, but was totally pleased.

“You’re all wet,” said Watts in a rather amused tone.

“I’ll dry,” said Newt with a dismissive wave to his hand. He slipped his shoes, vest and jacket back on. Pickett crawled out of his jacket’s breast pocket and gave him a thorough scolding. 

“Sorry Pickett!” He said sheepishly. He started to walk briskly back up the shore, his shoes squelching. 

"Where are you going, Newt?" asked George.

“I would like a word with Mr. J.W. Gorman about exploiting XXXX-rated magical creatures for entertainment. Particularly around unsuspecting muggle bathers. Any one of them could have ended up lunch.”

“Newt, wait!” Said George. “Are you suggesting King and Queen, the famous diving horses are…”

“Kelpies,” said Newt in a matter-of-fact tone, “Possibly just one Kelpie. They're shape-shifters after all. No ordinary horse would willingly perform that feat.”

“Newt, wait!” Said Queenie urgently, in a very different tone from George. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“What’s-“

“It’s Tina!”

She nodded up the beach to a solitary figure in a dark auror robe making her way over to them.

As she got closer, George called out, “Auror Goldstein, so glad you could join us! You’ll never believe what Newt just discovered-“ but he stopped abruptly at Tina’s troubled face. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Newt quickly.

“Oh, Teenie!” Said Queenie with a hand over her mouth.

“It’s Grindelwald. He’s escaped! A team of our best aurors were transporting him to Archambault Prison. He...he killed them all and escaped. Six highly trained wizards...They were good men,” said Tina sadly, “I was in the Auror academy with some of them...I…” her voice broke. 

“Tina, I’m so sorry!” said Newt utterly horrified.

She swallowed, collected herself, and continued, “We don’t know where he got a wand, or where he’s headed. Samson’s also disappeared. We’re wondering if he was also in on it. We’ve called in our top aurors nationwide as well as the International Aurors' Alliance, to begin the hunt for Grindelwald."

“Oh, Tina!” Said Queenie, and she pulled her into a hug. Tina hugged her back.

When they split apart, Tina quickly rubber her eyes.

“Your brother is arriving soon, Newt. With a delegation of Britain's auror forces. They would like to ask you all some questions about what transpired yesterday. I was hoping these interviews could take place at Station House Four, as I’m not sure if bringing muggles to the CMP would be the best idea right now.”

“Of course,” said Brackenreid, “Is there anything else we can do to help?”

“I don’t even know...I…” she shook her head. 

“It will be okay, Tina,” said Queenie gently. 

Tina nodded, "We best get going. They should be arriving at Station House Four soon."

They packed up the remnants of their picnic, the mood now sombre. As they made their way to a secluded stretch of beach well-hidden by trees to apparate back to Station House Four, Newt looked another glance out to the water. Ominously dark storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. Newt felt unsettled. In spite of everything that had happened, he'd found so much joy in Toronto in such a short time - friends, laughter, understanding, adventure, and...above all...Llewellyn Watts. He feared this new development might destroy the little bubble of happiness he'd found. 

Whatever was coming, at least they'd face it together.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, I love writing Newt and Watts's awkward exchanges. They're just too cute. 
> 
> I envision the International Aurors' Alliance to be a bit like Magical Interpol.
> 
> Archambault Prison is abstractly based on Archambault Institute in Sainte-Anne-des-Plaines, a prison near Montreal.
> 
> According to my historical research, Hanlan's Point beach was in fact one of the most popular Toronto beaches. After Sunnyside Amusement Park was built, it grew in popularity and Hanlan's Point park decreased in popularity, until it shut down in the late 1920s. The Hanlan's Point Stadium was home to the Toronto Maple Leafs for 42 years, until the end of the 1925 season, when The Maple Leafs moved to their new stadium. The old stadium was eventually demolished in 1937 with the construction of the Toronto Island Airport. 
> 
> J.W. Gorman’s Diving Horses was (weirdly) a very popular attraction - and still is! Apparently photos of the horses diving are some of the most popular items in Toronto's historical archives. The two white horses, King and Queen, apparently performed multiple times a day - leaping from the platform, swimming back to shore and then climbing up to do it again. Go figure. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring kelpies back in and make a nod to "Loch Ness Murdoch". 
> 
> Ruinart had some lovely Art Nouveau advertisements. I actually have a postcard-sized image on my wall. 
> 
> I'm reworking the last part of the story - As of now, it will likely be 2 additional chapters, possibly 3 if the next chapter gets too long.
> 
> As always, thank you so very much for reading this, and for accompanying me on this adventure. I'm so glad to share this tale with you! Do let me know what you think. Thank you for all the love you've given this story. I hope to have the next update up in a couple of days!! 
> 
> All my very best, 
> 
> Talia


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Theseus Scamander, and George Crabtree gets some well-deserved love.

**Chapter 20**

Watts watched Newt sadly. He could tell that Newt was suffering - that there was something about this he was dreading, something that made him incredibly uncomfortable. He watched the exuberant, brilliant, beautiful soul he’d come to know and love withdraw into a shell of nervousness and anxiety. He watched Newt hunch his shoulders and curl into himself. He reminded Watts of the Newt he’d first met in the interrogation room after the attack at City Hall. 

“Newt, are you okay?”

Newt looked up at him nervously, and shot him something between a shrug and a nod, then he looked back down at his hands. 

Watts didn’t dare put an arm around Newt. Especially not as they walked through the front door of Station House Four. He did manage to maneuver himself to be next to Newt, allowing his knuckles to brush against the back of Newt’s hand as they turned the corner and made their way over to the Inspector’s Office. 

Newt was clearly uncomfortable. He was looking down at his feet as he walked. He only looked up when he heard his name called.

Then, his stomach dropped directly to the floor. 

Leta. 

He froze, utterly gobsmacked. Of all the people he expected to encounter, she was certainly the last. 

“Newt! It’s so great to see you! You’re looking well. Clearly the Canadian air suits you.”

Watts looked at Newt. He wasn’t looking his best...he looked rather nauseous in Watts’s opinion. 

Newt didn’t respond. His expression was one of total confusion. 

Leta was her usual beautiful, elegant, poised self. She was radiant, dressed in a fine silk dress - the height of French couture. 

She continued, as if Newt’s awkward silence had never happened. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to catch up when you were last in England. I would love to hear about all the adventures you’ve been having.” 

“...What are you _doing_ here?” he asked abruptly and somewhat rudely. 

Leta paused, a look of sadness, or maybe guilt in her eyes, before it was gone in an instant, her face schooled into a look of bemusement.  
  
“I work for the Ministry now, in the Office of Magical Law Enforcement. Assistant to the department head, Mr. Travers. Theseus thought in the face of everything that’s happened, the _Ministry Family_ should be united and unwavering in our support.”

Newt’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. 

“Did he _actually_ use the phrase ‘Ministry Family’?” asked Newt.

Leta laughed, “Yes.”

“Sounds like my brother,” said Newt.

Queenie cleared her throat.  
  
“Newt, are you going to introduce us?” 

“Oh, right. Sorry. These are my...my friends, Miss Queenie Goldstein, Auror Tina Goldstein, Constable George Crabtree, Detective Murdoch, Dr. Ogden, Inspector Brackenreid, and L-Detective Llewellyn Watts,” he pointed at each of them in turn, "This is my brother’s fiancée, Miss Leta Lestrange.” 

If Leta was put off by the formality of the address, she managed to hide it rather well, though she did respond, “Newt, we were friends long before I got engaged to your brother.” 

Newt opened and closed his mouth, then looked at the floor. The silence stretched awkwardly. She looked at him carefully, and then at Queenie. Queenie grinned and slipped her arm through George’s innocently.

Leta looked puzzled. Still the awkward silence stretched. 

They were spared further awkwardness by the opening of Murdoch's office door. Meyers poked his head out, “Ah good, you’ve all arrived. They’re ready for you!” He ushered them all into the office. 

The _Ministry Family_ turned out to be comprised of Head Auror Scamander and two Deputy Aurors, Charlus Potter and Trevor Longbottom.

Meyers handled the introductions, “These are the people who were instrumental in the investigation and discovery of the obscurial and the capture of Grindelwald...may I introduce you to Inspector Brackenreid, Detective Murdoch, Detective Watts, Dr. Ogden, Constable Crabtree, Deputy Head Auror Tina Goldstein you know, and her sister Queenie Goldstein, and…”

“Newt,” interrupted Auror Scamander warmly, stepping forward. Newt stood by awkwardly readying himself for the inevitable.

Theseus’s hug knocked the very wind out of him. Newt held back an involuntary groan. 

Newt realized it wasn’t actually physical affection that made him uncomfortable. He’d come to find he was incredibly affectionate. He was free with his cuddles to the creatures he encountered. And then there was Llewellyn...he found himself often itching to touch hands or hug. He rather liked physical affection with Llewellyn. Quite a bit actually. 

It was when it was forced upon him in a suffocating manner that it made him feel trapped. Theseus for all his love and good intentions, would always be oblivious to how his affection made Newt feel. It triggered in Newt all sorts of painful memories. From the loss of their father, to a lonely and sad childhood, to memories of the war - Theseus’s constant well-intentioned meddling and criticising...they all bubbled up in Newt when he found himself engulfed by a Theseus Scamander bear-hug. 

“Theseus,” said Newt awkwardly patting his shoulder. 

Theseus laughed. 

“You look well, Newt! Much better than you did back home. Clearly a good adventure and Canadian soil agree with you!”

Watts was stunned. He looked at Newt carefully again, taking in the traces of bruises to his face, his uncomfortable body language, and his general unhappy air. He was the polar opposite of the radiant Newt he’d woken to this morning. If this was Newt looking _well_...how poorly had he appeared at home? 

Theseus gave Newt another firm slap on the back, then turned and shook their hands in turn, greeting them, smiling warmly. Theseus was charming, wonderful and good-natured. He was a brilliant force of warmth; sincere and honorable. 

Murdoch was instantly reminded of his own half-brother Sergeant Jasper Linney of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. The Inspector took an instant liking to Theseus Scamander. They were laughing like old friends, and the Inspector offered his own seat to Theseus, who politely declined... _he could never dream of taking away the Inspector’s chair._ With a wave of his wand, he conjured seats for himself and his associates. Tina was clearly starstruck. How couldn’t she be? Theseus Scamander was a legend. A hero...superhuman hero to be exact. He exuded power, but not in an ostentatious way like the imposter Graves had. His power was warm and brilliant, like the sun. His mere presence demanded respect and yet not through intimidation. He was magnetic, people _wanted_ to be near him. He was so _likeable_. Bold, brave, and amiable...a real Gryffindor’s Hufflepuff. 

Watts looked at Newt with understanding. His heart went out to him. How difficult must it have been to have Theseus as an older brother. A man so flawlessly perfect, so good with people, so comfortable and at ease with himself, that no matter what one could do, one would always fall short in the shadow of his brilliance. He could see it so clearly, his beautiful, wonderful, gentle, brilliant Newt made to feel lesser only because he was different. He tried to meet Newt’s eyes, but Newt had withdrawn further into himself. It broke Watts’s heart. 

Watts continued to observe the two Scamanders. It was clear to see they were brothers - they shared the same nose, the same ears, the same features, the same hair colour-though while Newt’s was chaotic curls, Theseus’s was an orderly wave. Though their eyes were similar in coloring, Theseus’s were piercing, Newt’s were gentle. While they were both the same height, Theseus seemed larger than life while Newt shrunk into himself. Theseus was all sharp angles; suave, elegant, and powerful. Newt was soft, quirky and gentle.

Where Newt was shy, quiet warmth, Theseus was a roaring bonfire. Watts could see in an instant why people were drawn to Theseus Scamander. He was likeable, handsome, successful, honorable. A dashing, noble knight of justice, and yet...Newt’s quiet brilliance could outshine the very sun itself if only it were given the chance. Watts knew without a shadow of a doubt who _his_ favourite Scamander brother was, and it absolutely killed him that _his_ Scamander brother was trying so very hard to disappear. 

Watts wondered when he started to think of Newt as _his_. He found that he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather liked the idea.

Meyers glanced at his pocket watch and said, “I best be going...I must greet the other members of the International Aurors’ Alliance as they arrive. Miss Goldstein, Auror Goldstein, when you are finished here, please escort Aurors Scamander, Potter and Longbottom back to our offices.”

“Of course, Sir,” said Queenie with a grin. 

“Thank you, Terrence,” said Theseus. 

“Good to see you again, Theseus," he said glancing at Murdoch and the rest of them, "We'll be in touch." Then he made his exit. 

“Gentleman. Ladies,” said Theseus, nodding respectfully to Dr. Ogden and the Goldstein sisters, once they were all seated, “I would like to begin by thanking you all for your assistance in yesterday’s events. To be frank with you all - there are many close-minded members of our society that would be outraged at finding out about the involvement of members of the non-magical community in this case. Obviously I do not share their views, I find them small minded and incredibly ignorant, but unfortunately, some who hold these views are powerful voices within our community. Not to speak ill of a superior officer, but Torquil Travers, Head of Magical Law Enforcement-”

“Is a bloody git,” interrupted Auror Potter. Longbottom snorted. Leta smirked.

“Charlus,” reprimanded Theseus with a stern glance, “Though perhaps it may be an apt description of our commanding officer, it is not an excuse to be disrespectful.”

Brackenreid laughed. Even Murdoch grinned, thinking of Chief Constable Davis who certainly fell into that category. 

“Sorry, Sir,” said Charlus sounding entirely unapologetic. 

“Mr. Travers in particular would be best to be kept out of the loop. At any rate, I thought we could have an informal discussion about what transpired yesterday. Off the record, away from official channels. Auror Goldstein has given me a thorough briefing, perhaps more thorough that Prime Minister King would have liked...it was my understanding that some of the events that transpired...never transpired. Auror Goldstein has also informed me about your incredibly successful careers. I recognize that I am in the presence of experts. I would be immensely grateful and honored to hear from you.” 

The Inspector beamed, then looked at Murdoch and Watts, and extended his hand as if to say “go on!”.

“Auror Scamander, we don’t have a great deal of experience with the magical world, having only discovered it yesterday, and very little contextual information about what happened. We’ve learned a great deal about obscurials from your brother, but as far as this Grindelwald, all we really know is that he’s what you call a _dark wizard._ Without that context, I don’t know how helpful we can actually be for you,” said Murdoch.  
  
“You’re absolutely right of course, Detective Murdoch. I can tell you what we know about Grindelwald. But sometimes I find an outside perspective to be essential to get to the bottom of a mystery.” 

Theseus smiled at him. Newt remained quiet. 

Theseus paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he began: “To give you a bit of background on Gellert Grindelwald...you have to understand that magic has a light side, magic that is good and pure and only creates positive results; a neutral side - spells that can be used either for good or evil depending on their application; and dark side - vile, evil magic that corrupts the soul and exists solely to inflict pain and cause destruction. 

“A Dark Wizard is one who devotes his life to the Dark Arts. Our profession originally started as an informal allegiance of Light wizards who sought to stop Dark Wizards...to catch them, and make them pay for their crimes against humanity. Over hundreds of years we’ve become a force of magical law enforcement. Auror forces exist in pretty much every nation in the world. Of course, nations have different levels of restrictions and tolerances for the Dark Arts. There are some ambiguities on the definitions of what constitutes Dark Arts, and what sorts of consequences are doled out to their practitioners. Sometimes, wizards slip through the cracks. Gellert Grindelwald is one of them. He’s become arguably one of the most powerful wizards of modern times. It’s part of what’s making him so difficult to capture.

Grindelwald was born in a small village in what was at the time the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He attended Durmstrang Institute - a magical school in the North of Europe which has the unfortunate tendency to be _incredibly_ tolerant of the Dark Arts. We know that he conducted several experiments in the Dark Arts while he was at Durmstrang. In the end, even Durmstrang couldn’t turn a blind eye, and he was expelled for twisted, dark experiments and near-fatal attacks on several students.”

Newt froze, and looked up at Theseus in shock. Theseus resolutely ignored Newt. Newt then glanced at Leta who was looking down at her hands, also avoiding his eyes.

Watts looked between the three of them. There was a story there and a lot of pain.

“We know little of what happened to him after his expulsion. We know he travelled extensively, slipping deeper and deeper into his experiments with the Dark Arts. We know he spent some time in England with a great aunt, the famous historian, Bathilda Bagshot. Very little was heard of him for years, but then, his name began to be associated in a slew of murders and violent actions. He began to preach, to hold elaborate rallies around the world in which he’d whip listeners into a frenzy. He dreams of overturning the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, thus creating a new order in which powerful pureblood wizards and witches become overlords - ruling over the muggle world, and anyone he deems unworthy - half bloods-children born of mixed magical and muggle marriages, muggle-borns - magical children born of non magical parents, and squibs - non-magical children born to magical parents. He’s charismatic, good at manipulating thoughts and emotions to his every whim...So good in fact that they’ve begun to call him “Silvertongue.” His followers are fanatics who will happily die for his cause. They’ve begun launching carefully coordinated attacks across Europe, committing mass-slaughter. All clearly his work, though impossible to pin on him. Like quicksilver, he slips through our grasps, always a step ahead at every turn. Many times, he is helped either wittingly or unwittingly by members of government agencies and auror forces - mostly unwittingly, either victims of enchantments, confoundments and manipulations, or pig-headed anti-muggle heads of departments who always seem to make the worst decisions…”

Potter coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like “Travers.” 

Leta laughed. 

Theseus smirked, then grew serious,

“Though unfortunately, we’ve found Acolytes of the Alliance - Grindelwald’s followers - hidden in auror ranks all across the world. We suspect this might be the case with Mr. Samson here in Canada - This is also why I hoped to meet here. I trust my deputies with my life, along with the lives of the two people who matter most to me in this world - Leta and Newt…”

Leta looked at him with love in her eyes. Newt’s ears went red, and he stared at his brother’s shoes. 

“Auror Goldstein, you have truly proven yourself as trustworthy, and the rest of you risked your lives to bring this criminal to justice. But apart from this group here, I don’t know who has been compromised. I don’t know who I can trust. I want to understand how this man thinks and acts. I want to find out how the hell he managed to infiltrate the auror ranks here in Toronto - and why? What was his plan? Hopefully that will allow us to determine where he will go and what he will try to do next.” 

“I think it’s rather obvious, Theseus,” said Newt, still staring at Theseus’s shoes.

They all looked at him.

“I don’t see it as particularly obvious, Newt.”

Newt looked up at them, glancing from person to person. 

“Well, spit it out Scamander,” said Potter gruffly.

Newt was clearly uncomfortable. 

“The obscurus.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Longbottom. 

“He was hunting the obscurus.”

“Whatever gave you that impression? For what purpose?”

Newt glanced at Tina, “You mentioned that he was obsessed with this case.”

Tina nodded thoughtfully, “He stopped all his other work, focusing only on the _Bombless Bombs_ case.”

“When did this happen? When do you think Grindelwald began impersonating Graves?” asked Theseus to Tina. 

Tina hesitated, “I only just began investigating Mr. Graves’s disappearance this morning,” she glanced at Murdoch’s blackboard. “Do you mind if I…” she started, pointing to it.

“Go right ahead, Auror Goldstein,” said Murdoch quickly. 

Tina waved her wand, and the board turned itself over to the back side. Then, the chalk picked itself up and began to write. It was a testament to the trial-by-fire nature of the past 24 hours that the muggles present did not even bat an eyelid.

As the chalk sketched out a rough timeline of the case, Tina explained: “The property destruction was mostly centered around Muggle Toronto, but it raised flags in our department almost immediately - when things happen in Muggle Ontario that _could_ be tied back to the magical world, word gets sent to a joint task force in our office, and Mr. Meyers’s. In this case, it was a newspaper article - sensationalist in my opinion, but it seemed to hint that something _unnatural_ was going on. At the time, Mr. Graves put me on the case. At first, he thought it nothing more than accidental magic, or Muggle rabble-rousers.”

“When was the first incident?” asked Potter. 

“The last week of May- in the early hours on the 28th,” said George. 

The chalk marked it on the timeline. “I was put on the case on the 29th, the morning after the destruction made the muggle papers.” 

“It was right before the first murder that Mr. Graves paid the case anything more than the normal level of interest. Abruptly on the 19th of June, he began to force himself into my investigation. He started to keep information from me, which was unusual, as we always...worked well together. Now I realize that this is when Grindelwald began to impersonate Graves.” 

“Could Graves have been a Grindelwald sympathizer?” asked Longbottom.  
  
“No,” said Tina and Queenie simultaneously. 

“What makes you so sure?”

The sisters exchanged a glance.

“Auror Longbottom, if you’d have known Auror Graves and worked closely with him, you’d understand. It would be as ridiculous as suggesting that Auror Scamander is a sympathizer,” said Tina. Longbottom nodded in understanding.

“When the bodies began to be found, our department realized at once that it must be something more sinister.”

“How did he explain it?”

“He was the one to suggest that the attacks were being perpetrated by Grindelwald or one of his supporters.” 

“Clever, he’s sowing terror merely by suggesting his own involvement,” said Potter, shaking his head.

"He formally took me off as head of the case, and personally took control. He grew evasive. Mr. Meyers knew that you were heading the investigation in the muggle world,” she said, turning to Murdoch, “That while the bodies of the victims remained in your morgue, we would never have all the information. He suggested bringing you into the case, Detective. Grindelwald grew so furious...it was shocking. At the time, of course I thought he was Mr. Graves...I’d never seen him so angry before. It was only when Meyers appealed to Madam King that he relented, on the condition that you be obliviated after they got the necessary information from you. Of course, the circumstances changed…”

“Ah yes, Newt...blackmailing...er...negotiating with the Magical Prime Minister certainly helped,” said Leta with wry grin.  
  
“I didn’t!” began Newt indignantly. 

“We’ll make a Ministry worker of you yet!” interrupted Theseus with a laugh. Newt deflated. He looked down at the floor, curling back into himself. His gripped the armrests of his chair with a white-knuckled grasp. Theseus didn’t seem to notice his obvious discomfort. 

“When I informed them about the victim, Reverend Winters, and the odd scars on his face, he instantly sped over to the New Salem Society...” said Murdoch thoughtfully.

“We’d been keeping tabs on the New Salem'ers - anyone so vocal about magic could potentially pose a risk to the Statute of Secrecy, no matter how insane they seem to the general populace,” said Tina, “Graves must have instantly made the connection to the obscurus right away.” 

Newt nodded, speaking to the floor, “He tried to close you out of the investigation, Detective, and he manipulated the situation to get Tina out of the way - not just in the investigation, but the whole department...he had you suspended on falsified charges...he perceived you as a threat and wanted you gone.”

“And when that failed, and I continued to help investigate, he tried to have Newt and I executed as traitors and Grindelwald supporters” said Tina bitterly.

“He WHAT?” asked Theseus looking at Newt, utterly horrified. 

Newt shrugged awkwardly, still not meeting his brother’s eyes. “We survived.” 

Theseus turned to Tina, “Auror Goldstein?”

She smiled sheepishly, “We did survive, Sir.”

Theseus pinched the bridge of his nose, “I see that while your report was more thorough than Madam King would have liked, it still seems to have glossed over some facts.”

Tina grinned awkwardly.

“But why would he be after an obscurus?” interrupted Longbottom quickly. 

Something clicked in Watts’s mind. Watts turned to Murdoch, who appeared to be on the same page.

“He wants to weaponize the obscurus! He all but told us!” said Murdoch, “In that first meeting, Grindelwald and Meyers told us they were not at liberty to say much, but that there was a terrorist organization operating out of Europe that was involved with these attacks. When I asked if there was a weapon involved, ‘Graves’ said…”

“‘Something like that’,” finished Watts, with air quotes... “He saw how much raw power the obscurus had, its capacity for destruction. When he arrested us, he was particularly interested in interrogating Newt about obscurials - particularly the possibility of separating the obscurial from the obscurus. He did it so subtly that I didn’t realize until now. But Newt, you... _you noticed it then!_ He slipped. He said that an obscurus without the obscurial is “Useless.” And you said that it’s a parasitic force that killed a child…”

“‘What on earth would you use it for?’” they finished in unison. Newt nodded, looking troubled.

As did Theseus. 

“At the Don Valley Brickworks,” continued Watts, “You had very nearly succeeded in taming the obscurus, in helping Credence, and the man - Grindelwald appeared and began attacking him.”

“Why though?” asked George, “Surely an obscurus would be as dangerous to him as anyone else - It appeared as if he was instigating him.”

“Or putting him through his paces,” said Tina utterly horrified. 

“Goading him back into obscurus form,” agreed Watts, looking at Newt, “He _must_ be looking for a weapon…”

Newt was still staring at the floor, “What better way to overturn the Statute of Secrecy than with the corrupted magical power of a magical child forced to hate his or her own magic?” 

Watts shook his head in awe of Newt’s brilliance.  
  
“And what better way to sow hatred of muggles than showing the horrific abuse a muggle inflicted on a magical child and the disastrous and deadly results of it. You saw Credence’s power. Mind you Credence was particularly powerful. Astonishingly so,” finished Newt sadly.

“He destroyed half The Ward, and was responsible for the deaths of at least nine people,” said Inspector Brackenreid.

Newt looked up sharply and shook his head, “His obscurus was. The obscurial has no control over the obscurus - they’re usually horrified by the destruction it sows.”

“That must lead to more self-hatred. Watching something you fear and hate cause pain and suffering...it leads to more fear and hatred, which then further fuels the obscurus,” said Julia. 

  
“Merlin,” said Potter, shaking his head, “And the obscurial...are you sure he’s dead?”

“The aurors attacked with deadly force on Madam King’s orders. I don’t see how he could have survived a direct assault of that nature,” said Tina softly. 

“Trigger-happy fools,” said Newt bitterly, “That poor boy.”

“Ah, poor Newt, you never met a monster that you couldn’t love,” said Leta softly, a sad smile graced her lovely features. 

He looked up at her then, his cheeks red, eyes betraying pain.

Watts looked between them.  
  
“That brings up a good question, Newt, what in Merlin’s name were you doing here in the first place?” asked Theseus, oblivious as usual to Newt’s inner turmoil.

Newt looked back down at his hands. “I’m here on my research…” 

“Newt.”

“I found a Re’em, I’m trying to rehabilitate her, to release her in the wilds of Canada, I’m just passing through -” 

“NEWT.” 

Newt looked at him finally.

“What?”

“Dumbledore put you up to this didn’t he.” 

Newt opened his mouth to refute Theseus’s accusation, but stopped. 

Theseus raised his eyebrows triumphantly. 

“It’s not like you think,” said Newt quickly. 

“That man is a master manipulator. Thank Merlin he is on THIS side of the law.” 

“It’s not like that Theseus. I’m not some sort of agent. He didn’t send me here on some sort of mission, if that’s what you’re implying. Professor Dumbledore and I spoke about my research. I told him I was heading to the Americas, starting in Canada. He told me Toronto was a lovely city, that I should check it out whilst I’m here as I’d likely enjoy it. I don’t know _why_ he said that. Perhaps he saw the advertisement for Mr. J.W. Gorman’s diving horses and recognised that they were kelpies. Perhaps he finds Hanlan’s Point to be a delightful beach. Perhaps he's fond of _mille_ - _feuille_ or shopping at Eaton’s. I don't _know_. If you want to know why Dumbeldore suggested I come to Toronto, perhaps you should ask him. All I can tell you is I knew I was coming to Canada, and I figured Toronto’s as good a place as any to start.” 

At Theseus’s disbelieving stare, Newt said with much exasperation, “How could he possibly have known there would be an obscurus here? Before I arrived there were what - two deaths, and some property damages?”

"That's the question, isn't it," said Potter.

“Were the obscurus markings reported in the muggle papers?” asked Newt.

“No, we kept that to ourselves,” said Murdoch. 

“So then, how could Dumbledore have possibly known? Are you suggesting Professor Dumbledore what - scours Muggle newspapers for signs of _obscurials_? They’re precious rare as it is. There wasn’t even enough evidence in the report to suggest it _was_ an obscurus,” said Newt.

“Newt, I’m not accusing Dumbledore of anything. It just seems too large of a coincidence that you should be here on Dumbledore’s suggestion while all this is happening. What are the odds that Dumbledore would suggest the one city in the entire Western Hemisphere in which there was an active obscurus, especially considering how rare obscurials are?"

Newt didn’t answer. 

“What about Grindelwald - How did Grindelwald find the obscurus? Did he come to Toronto and impersonate Graves because he knew there was an obscurus here? Or did he have ulterior motives and just happened to come across the obscurus while here,” asked Longbottom. 

“That I don’t know yet,” said Tina, “My assignment and priority is finding Mr. Graves...hopefully if and when we find him, he’ll be able to offer us more information.” 

“Do you think he’s still alive, Auror Goldstein?” asked Potter.

Tina paused. She cleared her throat and said, “I certainly hope so, Auror Potter.”

They were silent for a while. Potter glanced at his pocket watch, and sat up straight.

“Sir, we should probably head back, the others should be arriving by now.” 

  
“Of course, Charlus, I’m sure the rest of you will be happy to be getting back to a well-deserved leisurely Sunday afternoon. We won’t take up any more of your time. But if you do think of anything else, please be in touch.”

“We certainly will,” said Brackenreid. Theseus shook hands with them all again.  
  
“Thank you for your time and assistance,” said Theseus, “I’m glad my brother blackmailed Madam King.”

Brackenreid laughed, as they walked past Newt, who looked like he wanted to disappear. 

Leta shot Newt an unreadable look as she walk by.

“Well, I best be getting home to Margaret and the boys," said Brackenreid, "Murdoch, Doctor?”

“We’ll head out with you, Sir,” said Murdoch, as everyone else followed them out of the office. 

"Watts?"

Queenie glanced from Watts to Newt to Theseus and then to George.

“Want to grab a butterbeer when I get back?” she asked George, Newt and Watts. 

George beamed. “That would be delightful, Queenie. We’ll wait for you here, shall we? He said, pausing at his desk, and shooting Newt a smile. She beamed at him. George pointed at Henry's empty desk directly across from him, "You can have a seat there, Newt."

Theseus paused, “Ah, one moment, Auror Goldstein, Constable Crabtree, I’d just like a quick word with my brother.” 

Newt looked, if possible, even more agitated. 

“Of course, Sir.” said Tina, “We’ll wait for you outside and we’ll apparate back together. There’s an alley right beside the station that’s most convenient…” They made their way out the front entrance of the Station. Queenie hesitated at the door glancing first at Newt, then Watts. She shot him a sad smile, then slipped out the door.

"I'll just...er...work on my novel, said George awkwardly, sitting and uncovering his typewriter. Watts perched himself on George’s desk, and pulled out a copy of Pablo Neruda’s _Veinte Poemas de Amor y Una Canción Desesperada_ from his breast pocket. 

“I’ll wait outside as well,” said Leta. 

“You can stay, Leta,” said Theseus.  
  
“I’ll give you some _Family Time_ ,” she said. She pecked Theseus a quick kiss on the cheek, and winked at Newt as she passed.

Watts tried really really hard to focus on his reading and not on Newt who shot him a desperate glance as Theseus pulled him a bit further away. 

> **_Emerge tu recuerdo de la noche en que estoy._ **
> 
> **_El río anunda al mar su lamento obstinado..._ **

Theseus looked at Newt.

“Why are you being so cold with Leta, Newt?”

Whatever Newt was expecting this was not it.

“I’m not-” 

"She was heartbroken that you kept avoiding our dinner invitations the entire time you were visiting with Mum."

Newt opened his mouth awkwardly, totally unsure of what to say. He closed it again.

“I know you feel awkward about being expelled, and that Leta got to graduate and you didn't, but surely enough time has passed that you can have a normal civil relationship with your old school friend.” 

“I wasn’t ex- That's not-” stammered Newt.

Theseus sighed, looking over him with a practiced, concerned eye. He took in Newt’s mismatched and wrinkled clothing, his posture, his unruly hair. Theseus knew he probably wasn't eating or sleeping properly, he had a tendency to forget those things when he got involved in his "work." But worse than that was how positively _unhappy_ he looked. That a man of Newt's age and obvious talent could be so positively awkward...

“Why must you always be so…” he waved his hand over Newt, exasperatedly unable to find the words to express. 

Theseus's words cut deeply.

“So...like me?” said Newt softly.

Theseus paused, “I didn’t mean it like that, Newt. You know that. But it wouldn’t hurt for you to be less...awkward. More confident...more _normal_. It’s like you’re determined to be different; to not fit in.”

“I’m just being myself, Theseus,” said Newt softly, clearly hurt.

Theseus chuckled, “I know. I know you’ve been like this since you were a child, and it was endearing...but you’re not a child any longer. Don’t you want to put your life in order? Surely you must want to settle down...to find a job with a purpose, to feel comfortable in your own skin and happy with yourself. Don’t you want to be respected and appreciated for who you are.”

Newt didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t even know how. Theseus let the pause drag out a little before he continued,

“Mum was very worried. You never wrote to tell her you arrived safely. You know her fear of muggle means of travel since that bloody _Titanic_.” 

Newt winced. “I completely forgot. With everything that happened…”

“Being sentenced to death does that to someone.” 

> **_...Era la alegre hora del asalto y el beso._ ** **_  
> _** **_La hora del estupor que ardía como un faro._ **

Watts found himself reading the same line about 20 times. He finally snuck another glance up at Newt. He longed to hug him, to defend him to Theseus saying _He *is* respectable and happy and appreciated. He is perfect exactly how he is. Finding someone as rare and special as Newt is not a common occurance. If only you could see the real Newt. If only you weren't so blinded by your perceptions._

Newt’s eyes were downcast, a sad, guilty expression on his face. 

“Please apologize to her for me Theseus. I’ll send along a note for her, and some flowers or something…”

“I think she’d prefer to hear the apology from you, Newt.”

“Theseus, I just stopped in for a visit...in a matter such as this time is of the essence. It’ll probably be another year and a half before I can come back to visit.” 

“Perhaps not, once you hear what I have to say,” said Theseus brightly. 

Newt looked confused, “What do you mean?” 

“I’m to take you home with me.” 

“On whose orders? Mum’s?” 

Theseus laughed, “Well, in part. She _was_ worried sick. But when she heard of your involvement in this Grindelwald affair, she was immensely proud... _Finally, he does something to his father’s honour, finally he lives up to the Scamander name_ ,” he said, affecting a posh tone with a grin.

Watts winced internally and risked a glance up at Newt, whose face betrayed his hurt. 

When Newt didn’t respond, Theseus continued “The Ministry has asked me to approach you with an _offer_ to join the Auror ranks. Isn’t that great news?!”

Newt snorted humourlessly. 

“It’s a great opportunity. Being able to go toe-to-toe with Grindelwald is no easy feat. To be able to do it and live to tell the tale...you’ve proven yourself, and the higher-ups have noticed. They’ll waive the training requirement for the time being...it’s a tremendous honour, Newt. They want you to assist us in bringing Grindelwald to justice…” 

Newt started at Theseus open-mouthed. Theseus clearly took Newt’s shock for acquiescence, for he grinned broadly, “Excellent, well, all that’s left is to pack your things and-”

“Theseus, not so hasty. You haven't had my reply yet...please tell the "higher-ups"  
‘Thank you, but no thank you,'” said Newt. 

“Newt!”

  
“I’m a year and a half away from finishing my fieldworld and publishing a book _in my chosen field._ ”

“NEWT!”

“I’ve made my decision ages ago, Theseus. I chose magizoology. I didn't want to be an Auror then, and I still don’t now. I certainly am not abandoning this unfinished work now. I’m leaving Toronto for Saskatchewan, within the week. And from there, I will travel through America, Central America, South America, and The Caribbean...I _will_ finish my research, and in a little over a year, my book will be complete. End of story.”

Watts felt cold dread slip down into his stomach as he looked up at Newt.

 _Newt was leaving. Leaving Toronto. Leaving him._ The end of the poem rang hollowly in his heart. 

> **_Es la hora de partir, la dura y fría hora  
> _ _que la noche sujeta a todo horario._ **
> 
> **_El cinturón ruidoso del mar ciñe la costa.  
> _ _Surgen frías estrellas, emigran negros pájaros._ **
> 
> **_Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.  
> _ _Sólo la sombra trémula se retuerce en mis manos._ **
> 
> **_Ah más allá de todo. Ah más allá de todo.  
> _ _Es la hora de partir. Oh abandonado!_ **

Watts felt the room closing in on him. He wanted to cry. He needed to escape. He cleared his throat, resting the book on George’s desk, he got to his feet and muttered to George, “I, I’m...I’m going to step out moment for some fresh air.” He slipped out of the station quickly. 

The Scamander brothers continued unaware. George resolutely pretended he couldn’t hear as he typed away. 

“Newt!”

“I appreciate the ‘ _honour’_ in their offer, but I can’t.”

“Newt,” Theseus pleaded.  
  
“Theseus, _I can’t_ ,” he said, emphasizing the words desperately wishing that Theseus would understand. “I’m not like you, Theseus. This...this life, is not for me.”

“Newt, you went to war, this is hardly the same thing.” 

“Theseus, The War very nearly killed me. If not for Dumbledore…”

“That’s the other thing that I want to talk to you about,” Theseus grew serious, and placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder. 

“I won’t be the only one to have made the connection between this and Dumbledore, and unlike me, others in the department do not harbour any affection for Albus Dumbledore. They don’t know him as we do, they were never his students. There are some who think he’s trying to plan a coup or something…”

Newt snorted again and shook his head disbelievingly. 

“Theseus, Dumbledore is not an insurrectionist. As for me, I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t want a part in any of this. I’ve witnessed more than enough violence, death and destruction in the War. I barely survived. Please. Please understand me. Please listen to me. I just can’t.” 

“Newt, you witnessed first-hand the sort of man Grindelwald is. Here you are presented with an opportunity, a chance to help stop him…are you really going to walk away from this?”

“The world is not divided into Aurors and Grindelwald supporters, Theseus.”

“Newt, pull your head out of the sand!” 

Newt paused as if he’d been slapped. 

“Go on then Theseus. Let’s hear it. I’m selfish, irresponsible, immature…”

“You don’t think it’s selfish and immature to go gallivanting around the world on your _Beastly Adventures_ rather than helping to bring a criminal like Grindelwald to justice?”

“My work is also important, Theseus. I’m helping and healing every day…what makes a creature less important than-”

“Newt,” interrupted Theseus, exasperated. "Is this really the hill you’re choosing to die on, Newt? I’m not saying “don’t care about creatures.” You can carry on with it as a hobby. I mean, Mum breeds hippogriffs, but she doesn’t define her identity based on it. She has a life outside of it. Shouldn’t you devote your time and talents to something more worthwhile? I’m not asking that much of you.”

“You’re asking _everything_ of me.” 

Theseus shook his head at Newt, utterly disappointed. 

“I fear a time is quickly approaching Newt, in which everyone’s going to have to pick a side. Even you.”

Newt looked away, biting back tears that were threatening to fall. 

Theseus pulled Newt into another rough hug.

“Come here, little brother,” he said, “Think on it, Newt. Please. I just want what’s best for you.”

Newt didn’t say anything, not trusting himself to speak. 

Theseus drew away, “We’ll be in touch...hopefully, before you depart for wherever...” 

Newt nodded noncommittally.

“Excellent. Well, best be off. Can’t keep them waiting…” he tipped his hat. “Take care of yourself, Newt.” 

Theseus left. 

George paused mid key-stroke. He looked at Newt carefully as Newt struggled to collect himself.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” said Newt sadly. He turned and saw only George sitting there, and his brow furrowed. 

“Think nothing of it, Newt. I know your brother means well, but...." he hesitated, then changed tactics, "Incidentally, I’m glad that you’re a magizoologist. You're being true to yourself, that's the most any of us can do. You’re doing very important work. He should be proud of what you accomplished. The world needs more people like you. I think it’s a real shame that your brother doesn’t see that.”

Newt looked down again, blinking furiously. 

When he collected himself, he finally said, “Like I said before, few do...In any case, thank you George. That means a lot. You're a good man. I can see why you're so likeable." He smiled a watery smile at him. George beamed.

"Where’s Llewellyn?”

“He stepped outside for some air. I think he wanted to give you some privacy.” 

Newt nodded. He took a seat on George’s desk in the spot Watts had vacated. He picked up the book of poems and ran his fingers over the cover. He flipped it open to a random page and saw:

> **_...Me miran con tus ojos las estrellas más grandes.  
> _ _Y como yo te amo, los pinos en el viento,  
> _ _quieren cantar tu nombre con sus hojas de alambre.”_ **

“This is in Spanish - Just how many languages does he speak?” he said utterly awed. George paused again grinning, happy for the conversation to be out of such awkward areas.  
  
“I have no idea. But it’s quite frightening actually. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s _supernatural._ ” 

Newt chucked. For all his brother’s worrying, Newt was certain he was on the right path, particularly as the path brought him to Llewellyn Watts. 

He and George chatted amiably about writing and editing, and the horrors of writer’s block. George began to explain his idea for his new book _A Man Alone_ , until they were interrupted by Queenie. 

“Sorry that took so long. Are we ready?” 

“Sure!” said George, slipping the protective case back onto his typewriter. Newt also stood grabbing his suitcase.

“Where’s Llewellyn?” asked Newt quickly.

George paused, “He still hasn’t returned?” 

“Do you think something happened to him?” asked Newt nervously.

“No, I mean, he’s usually a bit absent-minded. He could have gotten caught up in a conversation with a street vendor. Or meandered away, following a delicious smell…” He took in Newt’s worried face. 

“Let’s go look for him,” said George quickly. 

  
  


* * * * * * * 

They searched the streets around the Station House, but still there was no sign of Watts anywhere. Newt was getting steadily more worried.

Did Watts not want to be around him any longer? Theseus was clearly the superior Scamander brother - perhaps Watts thought so too? Or was it Leta? Watts was brilliant. Did he perceive something about their history that made him turn away? Did he feel betrayed!?

Then a far more frightening thought slipped into Newt's worried mind.

“You don’t think Grindelwald…”

“Think positive, Newt,” said George. 

Newt looked on the verge of tears. _If Grindelwald had him, Newt would never ever forgive himself..._

Queenie slipped her arm through Newt's. “Hey, Bunny, don't think like that. How about we go back and check the hotel. Maybe he went back there...And I’m sure those creatures of yours need to eat.”

Newt looked dejected, he nodded glumly. 

She turned to George, “George, do you mind carrying on looking here…” she said with raised eyebrows.

 **_Check the pub,_** she mouthed, and subtly nodding her head towards the nearby establishment where the coppers of Station House Four often would gather for an after-work pint or two. “Meet us back at the King Edward once you’ve found him...er...if you find him. If not, we’ll find you.” 

George looked at her somewhat puzzled, but being the good sport he was, nodded and hopped to it. 

* * * * * * * 

  
  


“Detective! There you are!” a voice rang across the dusty bar.

Llewellyn Watts sat hunched over a half-full tankard of beer, looking morose. He didn’t look up as George crossed the bar and sat down across from him at the small corner table at which he sat. 

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, Sir. Is something wrong?” 

Watts didn’t speak, just glumly traced his finger along the sticky dark wood of the tabletop. 

“Llewellyn?”

He finally looked up at George for a moment, his expression so sad that George didn’t know what to do. 

“What’s got you so blue?” 

Watts looked back down at his hands.

“It’s nothing in the scheme of life and death, George. I just...I. I-”

He blinked furiously. A knowing look crossed George’s face, and he smiled sympathetically. 

Watts continued: “We’ve had a wonderful adventure, and now our adventure is over. And Ne- Mr. Scamander is departing on _his_ next adventure, and I… I’ve come to realize that I rather like…Adventure. And in this short time, I’ve enjoyed having Adventure around, grown accustomed to spending time...er...Adventuring. I’ve never felt this way about...anything...before, I never felt like...like the Adventure was so compatible to me. So absolutely perfect. And the thought of losing...this Adventure…” Watt’s voice broke. He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose this Adventure.”

George patted Watts’s shoulder comfortingly, “I believe we had a similar conversation about Fiona Faust…” 

“George, Fiona Faust was a _woman_. An er...human woman... This. This is about...an Adventure. A special. Lovely. Beautiful Adventure.” 

“Sir...Llewellyn. I _understand_." said George seriously, "And I want **_you_** to understand...that if you’ve found that you like... _Adventures_...there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s totally fine by me. And you should know, Sir, that your ‘ _Adventuring’_ , is totally safe with me.” He smiled sincerely. Watts blushed and looked down, blinking furiously. 

“At the end of the day, feelings about women and feelings about...er... _Adventures_ ...they’re not that different. Any time we come to care for someone…” George glanced at Watts’s pained expression “Or _something_ ” he continued quickly, “The thought of losing that person or thing is incredibly painful…”

Watts did not trust himself to speak. He felt it keenly, the pain. It was too much to bear. He wanted to weep. It took every last fibre of his resolve to keep it together.  
  
“But,” continued George, and Watts forced himself to look back at him.

“I think you’ll find that the situation may not be so hopeless as you think. I know that Newt was really desperate to find you. Perhaps the Adventure doesn’t want to lose you either.”

Watts cocked his head and furrowed his brows in confusion.  
  
“Perhaps as a euphemism this doesn't make much sense. What I’m trying to say is...Talk to Newt, Sir.”

“When did you become so philosophical and wise, George?” asked Watts finally. 

“Sir, some might argue that I’ve always been this way...but truth be told, I’ve spent a great deal of time working very closely with a very wise and philosophical man. It was bound to rub off on me sooner or later. He’s a friend of mine, perhaps you know him? Detective LLewellyn Watts of Station House Four.” 

Watts chuckled finally, but George continued on, “He’s not so rational when it comes to matters of the heart, perhaps, I mean, he did steal that bicycle...but then again...who is rational when it comes to matters of the heart?” 

“Who is indeed,” said Watts.

“At least this time you didn’t steal Newt’s case.” 

“I didn’t steal Miss Faust’s bicycle, Constable. I resent the insinuation!” 

At George’s raised eyebrows, Watts grinned sheepishly and said, “I merely... _delayed_ returning it to her.”

“Right, the same way Newt didn’t _blackmail_ Madam King…” he laughed, “You both make a very good...er...pair of adventurers.” 

Watts laughed. Then he grew serious and pensive again.

“George, do you truly think Newt…” He looked carefully at George and realized he was unable to ask what he desperately needed to know. 

Instead he asked, “What shall I do if the Adventure wishes to go on without me...if it hasn’t come to care for me as I care for it?” 

“You’ll never know until you ask. Some things in life are worth the risk. Talk to Newt, Sir. I know a thing or two about heartbreak myself. And Newt...he looked truly heartbroken…”

At this, Watts was overcome with guilt and the determination to do something about it. He got to his feet unsteadily. 

George rose quickly to steady him.  
  
“Sir, how much did you drink?” 

Watts snorted, “George, I am not drunk. Merely clumsy. I didn't even finish a pint...I certainly did not drink much...not nearly enough for the conversation I’m about to have, in fact. I hope Newt has some more of that fire whiskey available...or perhaps I should stop and pick up a bottle of wine from my boarding house on the way. I thank you, George. You are truly the best friend a man, or woman...or adventurer, creature, or what-have-you…” he paused to get his thoughts and words back in order, “the very best friend anyone or anything could ever ask for. You’re certainly my best friend, and the very best of people.”

George beamed, “You’re not so bad yourself, Llewellyn.”

Watts grinned. 

“Come along then, Sir. I’m to drop you off to the King Edward, Queenie’s orders. Your adventure anxiously awaits.” 

As they made their way out of the pub, Watts chucked, “I like that Queenie Goldstein, George. She’s quite a woman. You’ve finally found someone deserving of you, and that’s perhaps the highest praise I can pay her.” 

“Sir, are you sure you…”

“I’m not drunk!”

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted an earlier draft of this chapter. It wasn’t off plot-wise, but I had made some minor edits for wording and a final proofread pass, and then I managed to not save it, and pasted it here in all its unedited glory. I believe I’ve caught all the mistakes but I’ll check it again with fresh eyes later. My apologies!
> 
> I was tickled by the thought of including Harry's Great-uncle and Neville's Grandfather. Theseus, Charlus and Trevor. I see them as three very James-Bond or Kingsman-esque figures in bespoke suits. Being all posh. Saving the world. 
> 
> (I named Neville's grandfather, Trevor as I couldn't actually find Neville's Grandad's name, and I thought it would be sweet for him to name the toad after his Grandad. We know that Neville saw his grandfather die, and from personal experience, I can e press how absolutely traumatic that is for a child to witness. I can imagine Neville wanting his grandad with him as he starts at Hogwarts...so, Trevor. And I chose Harry's great-uncle rather than grandfather, as we know his grandfather, Fleamont Potter, Harry's granddad was successful entrepreneur and potioneer.)
> 
> I thought it was important to flesh out Theseus and Newt's relationship a bit. They clearly love each other, but there's a lot there, way more than just Leta between them. Theseus truly cares for Newt, he just can't see beyond his big brother goggles to the really wonderful person Newt is. I hope that came across that he didn't just seem like a prick. 
> 
> George Crabtree is a national treasure. He's an absolute gift. He deserves all 6 types of Greek love. 
> 
> Watts is reading Pablo Neruda's _Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada_ (Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair). It was published in 1924, and is his second published work. He was only 19! The particular poem that Watts's is reading is "Una canción desesperada" - A song of despair. The first stanza "The memory of you emerges from the night around me.The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea." The second excerpt comes from the middle part of the poem, "It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss. The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse." The last excerpt comes from the end of the poem, "It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour which the night fastens to all the timetables/ The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore. Cold stars heave up, black bird migrate/ Deserted like the wharves at dawn. Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands/ Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything. It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!"
> 
> The random page that Newt opens to is Poem #18 - "Aquí te amo" - Here I love you. The stanza is taken directly from the end "The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Whole Lotta Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, some mentions of war-related ptsd, suicide, self-hate, mentions of homophobia as Newt and Watts work through their insecurities.

**Chapter 21**

The storm clouds that Newt had earlier spied on the horizon over Lake Ontario steadily made their way across the sky and blanketed Toronto. The heavy sky grumbled with distant thunder as Watts and George made their way from the pub. Watts stopped at his boardinghouse to pick up a bottle of wine. 

He couldn’t decide which to bring. He scratched at his neck awkwardly as he puzzled - _Which one would Newt like more? Which one said “I think I’ve developed strong feelings for you, and I don’t know what to do with this information”?_

He ended up grabbing a _Moscato d’Asti_ ...a dessert wine. The wine’s notes of flower blossoms and sunny ripe peaches made him think of Newt...his sweet gentleness, his soft eyes...he felt the proverbial butterflies in his stomach, but they seemed _significantly_ more aggressive than fluttery. 

He hoped he’d made the right choice.

They’d made it halfway to the King Edward before the sky opened up. George and Watts found themselves caught in a torrential downpour - the rain pelting them like tiny angry fists...much like the violent butterflies in Watts’s stomach. They splashed through puddles as they trudged along undeterred as their fellow pedestrians ran for cover. 

Watts hoped the rain was an auspicious sign. _What was it the poets and philosophers said about rain?_ He paused on a street corner and looked up at the sky, letting the rain pour down his face. He closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer to the rain.

“Sir?” asked George cautiously, pausing in his trek.

Watts did not answer at first. Just stood there a while. He slipped the bottle under his arm and held his palms open as if to catch the raindrops as they fell.

“Sir??” asked George, a little more concerned. 

Watts finally responded, reciting: 

_“And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,_ _  
__Which, Strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:_

 _I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,_ _  
__Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,_

_Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form’d, altogether changed, and yet the same,_

_I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,_

_And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn,_

_And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, and make pure and beautify it:_

_(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment wandering,_

_Reck’d or unreck’d. Fully with love returns.)”_

“Are you alright, Sir?” asked George, uncertainly. But Watts was laughing. 

“The rain has given me its answer, George, borrowing the words of Walt Whitman. Shall we?”

George followed him bemusedly. 

* * * * * * * 

  
  


“So what did your brother want?” asked Queenie as she brushed Orlaith’s golden mane. The Re’em’s eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the pampering. 

Newt’s emotions were tightly wound. Llewellyn was nowhere to be seen when they returned to the hotel. The apologetic clerk told him in broken French that he had not seen his attaché. He was alternately wracked with guilt, worry, and the sinking suspicion that Watts had finally realized that Newt was unworthy of his attention.

He appreciated having the task of feeding and caring for his animals. He took a moment to finish unloading Orlaith’s dinner of cut prairie grasses from his wheelbarrow before answering. 

“He wanted me to give up on my work, which he perceives to be a total waste of time...it is unfortunately a perennial argument in the Scamander household. Nothing new, really. Only this time, he offered me a job in the British Auror Office to help track down Grindelwald.” 

Queenie paused, looking at Newt carefully. Orlaith sighed and nuzzled her hand, begging her to continue.

“It bothers you that your brother doesn’t understand…”

“I’m accustomed to it, Queenie. Honestly, I’ve resigned myself to not being understood by most people. I just…”

“You’re not being selfish!” 

“I didn’t say that!”

“You were thinking it.”

He approached Orlaith with a handful of the greens. Her ears perked up excitedly and she licked Newt’s face affectionately with a long neon-violet tongue. 

“I never doubted that my work is important. Even though others may not see it. Orlaith, for example, she would have been dead. She very nearly was. Doesn’t she also deserve protection, love and care? There are so many aurors, plenty of people who are able to do that work. There’s pretty much no one advocating for creatures like Orlaith.”

Queenie looked at Newt with a sad smile as she watched him feed the creature a handful of grasses at a time.

“Tina’s the auror, Newt, I’m not cut out for that life, that doesn’t make me lesser or unimportant.”

“Anyone who met you, Queenie, would be an utter fool to think you unimportant or lesser than _anyone_.” 

Queenie grinned at Newt, “Oh, Bunny. You’re too sweet for words...but you’re also absolutely, utterly oblivious. I’m trying to say...I’m not selfish for recognizing that I don’t want to be an auror. I’ve just got a different set of skills and talents, and I’m following a different path in the world.”

“Of course, as you should.” 

“As you should too.”

Newt managed to shoot her a weak smile as he grabbed a second handful of grasses for Orlaith.

“Now, about Detective Watts.” 

Newt felt his shoulders and neck tense. He sighed and looked away.

“I know you’re worried about him, but I doubt Grindelwald would stick around in Toronto...not with Credence gone, his cover blown, and auror forces descending on the city. I’m sure Watts is safe. But that’s not your only worry, is it…” 

Newt pretended to be very _very_ focused on feeding Orlaith and didn’t respond.   
  
“Newt, please answer me. I can read it all in your mind, anyway. Heartaches are the easiest thoughts to read…” 

“If you can read it all, why are you asking me about it?” he asked a bit defensively.

“Because that’s what friends do, isn’t it...talk about things.” 

Newt glanced up at her. Friends. He hadn’t had _friends_ in a while. He’d never really had _friends_ in the plural. He looked at Queenie carefully, there was a look of sincere concern in her eyes. 

Despite his worry and the nauseous feeling he felt about the entire situation, Newt also felt a warmth in his heart. He’d somehow managed to find _friends_. Human friends. What a revelation! 

Orlaith devoured the last of the greenery in Newt’s cupped hands and sniffed him excitedly looking for more. 

Queenie rolled her eyes affectionately, “What did you think we were, Newt, turnips? Of course we’re friends, you silly gooseberry. Georgie put it best - you can’t recapture a baby occamy with someone without becoming practically family.” 

Newt chuckled.

“...So?” she asked, determined not to let Newt wiggle out of this one. 

Newt petted Orlaith to avoid answering. 

“You’ve grown fond of him, and you doubt that he feels the same way about you?” asked Queenie. 

“George?” asked Newt feigning confusion.

“Don’t be intentionally obtuse, Newt, it’s unbecoming,” said Queenie, eyes narrowing, “Are you concerned that Llewellyn doesn’t feel the same way about you that you do him?” 

Newt sighed in frustration. “I don’t know, Queenie. I’ve never been one to understand humans. I think he likes me, but I also thought…” 

“You thought he left because he doesn’t _like_ you?” asked Queenie disbelieving. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Newt muttered. 

Queenie scoffed. 

“He met Theseus. How could anyone look between us and choose me…”

“NEWT!” said Queenie exasperated. “While your brother is very nice, very noble, and very handsome, he’s not even in the running in this situation! It’s pretty obvious the way the good Detective feels about you.” 

“We don’t all have the benefit of reading thoughts, Queenie.” 

“Newt, it doesn’t take an expert in the mind arts to see how Llewellyn feels about you. George noticed, and while he’s a very perceptive and sweet man, a legilimens he is not.”

“Then why do you think he left? Do you think it has to do with…”

Queenie scoffed, “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him about it, rather than coming up with outlandish scenarios as to why he doesn’t love you. Ask him how he feels! Tell him how _you_ feel! _Tell him what he means to you._ ” 

Newt fell silent. Orlaith huffed in frustration and nudged Newt out of the way to make her way over to the rest of the grass.

“How _do_ you feel about him, Newt?” asked Queenie. 

Newt looked at her desperately. She raised her eyebrows. 

“I _really_ like him,” he said finally, “A lot. So much so that I’m frightened. I’m so frightened that I’ll muck this up, that he’ll wake up and see that I’m an absolute mess of a person, and run off to someone better. Someone more deserving of him....He’s utterly brilliant. He speaks a billion languages. I think he’s read every book ever written. He’s so genuine, and kind and alive...and...I feel like…” he trailed off helplessly. 

He couldn’t finish the rest of his thought aloud but he had no doubt that Queenie had read the rest of it. _'...half the time I feel dead to the world.'_ He leaned heavily against the wooden fence that marked the edge of Orlaith’s enclosure. He couldn’t quite contain the sob. 

Queenie slipped next to him, bringing her arm over Newt’s shoulders and pulling him to her in a fierce hug. Newt did not resist.

She rested his head on Newt’s shoulder, and he rested his cheek against her head. She rubbed his back as he cried. Orlaith looked troubled at Newt’s outburst. She left her food, dashing over to him and headbutted his side until he chuckled weakly and began to pet her.

When he finally got his emotions under control, Newt began to speak, the story bursting from him like a torrential rainstorm. 

“During the war, I was in the experimental project - the Dragon Division. I was young, strangely good with creatures, recently expelled...soft...they figured it would toughen me up, give me a chance to do something good for my country, to put my “follies” to good use. It was a catastrophic failure…” 

Not quite up to repeating himself, he let himself relive those memories for Queenie’s benefit.   
  
She gasped, utterly horrified.

“After... _well_...er...the Dragon Division was disbanded, and we were ordered to hunt down and...euthanise all the dragons…They told us they were violent creatures, they were too damaged, too broken to be rehabilitated. I just couldn’t do that to them, not when it wasn’t their fault. Not when so many of us in that same situation found ourselves broken and damaged too. How could we punish the creatures for reacting the same way that many a human did to such horrors...especially when humans understand war, understand what we were fighting for...those poor creatures, they were subject to the very worst of humanity - the cruelty and violence…we caused it all - the war, the destruction, the suffering, the death…and we dragged those poor creatures out in the middle of it, when the snapped, when they no longer served their purpose, they were disposed of, like an old newspaper…”

Queenie understood what Newt couldn’t say, which was just how much he empathized with the dragons. And she suppressed a shudder at the number of young men who returned from the war with much the same internalized horrors that Newt did. 

“I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t be a part of it. I snuck out and set my dragon free, I tried to set them all free...but I got caught. I was arrested. I disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer. Rather than facing disciplinary actions, however, once again, due to my family reputation, they chalked up my rash actions as a response to the trauma of seeing my commanding officer eaten by one of the creatures. I had to watch, helpless, as our dragons were hunted down and killed...I guess they thought it would help me to overcome the _shell shock_ , the violent vindication of the loss of our commander. And when it didn’t work, when I cracked, and screamed and cried, they shipped me off to a hospital and quietly dismissed me from active service. I half expected them to put me down as well. Honestly, there was a time where I would have welcomed it. 

They kept me there, thinking I was mad, depressed, suicidal, broken…until the end of the war, and then they shipped me back home and expected everything to be tickety-boo. They expected me to reintegrate with normal life, pack all that violence and trauma I witnessed away as if nothing happened. But it _did_ happen. And I _was_ broken. I was so broken for a long time, and I felt further away from people, from my family and friends than I ever had before…”

Queenie gave him a squeeze. She didn’t say “I’m sorry,” knowing that it wouldn’t change anything. 

Instead she said, “You’re not broken, Newt - you’re healing. There’s a tremendous difference there.”

Newt snorted weakly, “But I slip. The explosion at City Hall, being arrested and interrogated, having to fight Grindelwald...even facing my brother today...it took me right back to _The War_ again. The anxiety was back, the desperation...How could anyone love someone like me. Someone weak, broken...worthless...Someone-”

“Strong and wonderful? Someone who went through so much suffering and pain and trauma and didn’t allow it to tarnish his beautiful soul. Someone devoting his life to healing and caring for the marginalized, forgotten and unappreciated?” Queenie picked up her head and turned, taking Newt by the shoulders and forcing him to meet her eyes, “You’re not broken, Newt. Anyone who has gone through all that you’ve done and come out, not just in _one piece_ , but as kind and compassionate and brilliant as you are is infinitely stronger than you can possibly imagine. You say you don’t understand humans, but you’ve got all the very best of humanity inside you. Anyone who doesn’t see that, is completely and utterly undeserving of you.”

“A person’s real value should be measured by the good they do. The healing they bring, the things they build rather than destroy, the compassion they show...that’s real strength,” came a voice behind them, Newt and Queenie turned and spotted Watts and George, both thoroughly drenched. Watts scratched his neck awkwardly then continued, “I once heard a very wise man utter those selfsame words, and by that definition, Mr. Scamander...By that definition, I think you’ll find you’re rather more valuable than gold.”

Newt looked back down at his hands, utterly humiliated to have been caught in that moment by Watts. 

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” said Watts gently. 

Queenie made her way over to George and kissed his cheek. “You’re an excellent finder, George Crabtree. Though you’re soaked to the bone!” She waved her wand over George and Watts and their clothes and hair instantly dried. 

“I’ll take this,” she said, grabbing the bottle from Watts’s hand.

“It should be served chilled,” said Watts awkwardly. 

“Leave it to me, Bunny. We’ll have a quick drink while we wait for the rain to stop, and then, Georgie- you’ll escort me home, and I’ll make you a delicious dinner, how does that sound?” 

“That sounds utterly delightful, Queenie!” 

He linked arms with Queenie and they made their way back to Newt’s shed. Watts looked at Newt uncertainly. Newt hesitated. Orlaith headbutted him in the back. 

“ _Okay_ , you meddlesome thing,” he said. 

Orlaith made a noise that sounded like a laugh.

Newt made his way over to Watts awkwardly, who couldn’t help the amused look on his face. 

“Hi,” said Watts.

“Hello,” said Newt, tentatively, “Shall we?” he asked, nodding towards his shed. Watts nodded. They started to make their way back in awkward silence.

“I-”

“Did-”

They both started at the same time, and stopped awkwardly. 

“You can go ahead,” said Newt, softly.   
  
“No, please,” said Watts, gesturing for Newt to continue. 

Newt blushed, utterly unsure of what to say. 

“I was a little worried when I...when we saw you were gone…”

“I-” started Watts, then stopped.   
  
“You went to get wine?” asked Newt, uncertainly.   
  
Watts’s shoulders slumped. 

“Ultimately yes, I just...I needed some air. I’m sorry, I just-”

“I understand. It was an awkward thing to have to bear witness to.”

“NO! No, I -” Watts couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Llewellyn Watts who always had something to say, who had a well of words and quotes, philosophies and witticisms at his fingertips, he was rendered utterly speechless. 

Newt curled in on himself, and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I understand. You don’t have to say anything. Was it my brother?” 

“Your brother?” asked Watts utterly confused, but Newt did not look up. 

“Seeing the two of us together inevitably makes people draw comparisons that paint me unfavourably.” 

“No! Newt, I…”

He was interrupted by the pop of a cork being removed from a bottle. George popped his head out, “Newt, where do you keep your glasses?” 

“I’ll get them!” he said quickly, and darted into the shed. Watts wanted to disappear. He’d been so worried about losing Newt that he’d managed to drive a wedge between them. 

“Detective Watts!” came Queenie’s voice.   
  
“Coming,” he said sadly, and made his way inside to face the music. 

Newt was standing on a bench shuffling through the organised chaos that was his cabinetry. His torso halfway in a cupboard.

Newt tossed George a pack of biscuits, some saltines, and a block of cheese that looked suspiciously like they had come from Dougal’s purse. Then, he finally emerged with four mismatched champagne flutes. 

He handed them off to George who passed them to Watts to pour the Moscato. 

“I do hope it’s to your taste,” said Watts shyly as he handed the glasses out to them, “I know it’s not quite Ruinart, but it’s sweet and lovely and…” he paused awkwardly noticing Newt’s closed expression. 

Watts felt his heart break. It had been going so well. How cruel could the universe be, to bring someone like Newt Scamander to his life and then for him to fudge it all up for them both. The pain was so sharp he could barely breathe.   
  
“Newt, was this you?!” asked Queenie abruptly.

Newt glanced at Queenie and froze. She was holding a framed photograph in her hand.

“Erm, yes, that was...that was 5th year at school.” 

“You were so cute! And was this Leta?” 

New shot her a pleading look, and though furiously _Please stop._

Queenie paid him no mind. She looked at him expectantly, then said “Leta Lestrange…that was some friendship you had.”

Newt closed his eyes, frustrated, “I asked you to please stop reading my thoughts.”

“And I told you, I’m sorry, Bunny, but it comes naturally. What happened between the two of you?” 

Newt looked at her utterly disbelieving. _Why was she doing this?_

“Leta Lestrange was my friend. We were at school together. I was kicked out. She’s engaged to my brother.” 

“You were expelled because of _her_ .”   
  
Newt started at her, willing her to stop.

“That must have hurt,” said Queenie, “You seemed particularly troubled when you found out about Grindelwald’s expulsion…you glanced at Leta...what happened Newt, how did you get expelled?” 

Newt wished the floor would swallow him up.

“I wasn’t officially expelled. I was sent home, but I was permitted to finish my coursework at home.” 

“...You took the blame.” said Queenie, looking at him carefully. 

“I don’t understand, what blame?” asked George, “What happened, Newt?” 

Newt looked around himself desperately, trying very hard not to look at Llewellyn. He signed, and looked back down at the glass in his hands. He began to speak to it.

“George, when I said that people tend to find me annoying I wasn’t exaggerating...Leta was my friend. My only friend at school. I mean, my housemates were kind enough, my teammates tolerated me, but no one really went out of their way to spend time with me, to talk to me. No one except Leta.”

He sighed, miles away.

“She had a very difficult life, you see. Leta’s father was a brute of a man. He was a practitioner of the dark arts...vile, violent and abusive. Her mother died in childbirth. Leta grew up abused, treated as a servant in her own home, longing for the day she could escape them and go to school - to be free, and make her own way in the world...but when she got to Hogwarts, she found she could never truly escape her past. Despite hating her father and everything he stood for, she was instantly shunned by almost everyone at school because of her heritage. She was an outcast. It was early on in our schooling that we formed an unlikely friendship...the daughter of a dark wizard and the son of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. But we weren’t that different...two social outcasts, studious, awkward and shy... interested in magical creatures. For a while it was nice.” He smiled sadly. 

“But whereas my housemates tolerated me, everyone hated Leta. There was this group of girls who were particularly horrid to her. They bullied her constantly…it was terrible.” Watts looked at Newt carefully. The story felt all too familiar to him, he could see it happening before his eyes, Newt in his shoes, Leta in his brothers’, and he was afraid he knew where it was going next. 

“One day, in our 7th year, I found a jarvey in the forest near our school. It’s a magical beast that looks a bit like a ferret. It’s not a particularly vicious creature...it’s got a XXX rating - any competent witch or wizard should have no trouble with them...but they’re foul tempered. They can mimic human speech and tend to say very rude things. Very juvenile. This particular jarvey was severely injured... I was never able to determine how exactly. But like any creature that’s subject to trauma and violence, it was rather aggressive. We kept him in an unused classroom where I nursed him slowly back to health...The number of bites and scratches I received off him....I actually ended up in the hospital wing once, he bit my hand to the bone. I told the nurse I had taken up woodworking. With my clumsiness, she believed me. Anyway, I named him Jeeves. He was particularly good at rude limericks.” Newt, bless him, still managed a wry smile as he thought of his friend Jeeves, despite the painful memory. 

“One day, the group of girls chased Leta to Jeeves’s classroom. I don’t think Leta fully thought it through - she certainly never intended anyone to get hurt, she doesn’t have a violent bone in her body. But Leta set Jeeves loose on the girls. She only wanted to scare them off, to show them they weren’t as tough as they seemed...she thought he’d shout some rude words and limericks, maybe claw at them a bit....But Jeeves was overwhelmed and he reacted with real aggression...he nearly ripped out a girl’s throat. She was the daughter of one of the undersecretaries to the Minister for Magic...she had to be rushed to St. Mungos - the wizarding hospital. She survived, but it was incredibly gruesome.”

Newt looked down at his hands. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out what would happen next... Leta, the unpopular daughter of a dark wizard - they accused her of planning the attack - an attempt at murder, using a vicious creature to kill the daughter of a Ministry Official in a school full of children. At best she would have been sent to Azkaban without a second though. At worst, they’d have executed her as a dark witch and attempted murderer. Her life would have been forfeit either way for one foolish mistake.” 

“Azkaban?” asked George.  
  
“Wizarding prison. Except, it’s not like muggle jail. It’s a horrible fortress on an unplottable island in the North Sea - it is guarded by dementors, wraith-like entities...they feed on the emotions and memories of the prisoners, leaving them nothing more than empty shells. Six months in Azkaban and most prisoners go completely mad. Most don’t survive more than a handful of years. I couldn’t leave my friend to that fate. I couldn’t let it happen. There was only one way it _could_ go... I’m the son of a respectable wizarding family. My father was the most respected auror in Wizarding Britain, and even after his death in the line of duty, his reputation carried tremendous weight. My brother was also making a name for himself, rapidly rising in the ranks, following in his footsteps...And then there’s me...awkward, bumbling, foolish, soft. I was well-known even then for my reckless fascination with magical creatures, with, as you put it George, “A very different threshold for _docile_ ,” He shot George a smile. “I could easily take the blame, say it was an accident...that I was out of my depth that I didn’t think Jeeves would react that way...it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination. The worst they’d do to expel me. In the end, fortunately, I wasn’t.”

They all stared at Newt open-mouthed.   
  
“As you can imagine, the incident became the proverbial erumpent in the room...it put a damper on our friendship. Leta was plagued with guilt. I made my choices willingly and would do it again to save her life, but I was sent to war, and I came back... _affected_. We drifted apart. She, to Theseus, and me...eventually...to my adventures.” He glanced at Queenie

“Does that answer your question, Queenie?” 

“Bunny, when we first met, I told you you were better off. She’s a taker.”

“And I’m...what...a chaser?”

Queenie snorted in an unsurprisingly unladylike manner, “You’re a nurturer. Incredibly kind and idiotically noble. You need someone who understands and appreciates you, exactly as you are.” 

“ _Idiotically_?” said Newt looking up at her, a little hurt.   
  
“I say that with all the affection and respect of an annoying little sister,” said Queenie with a grin. “Detective Watts could debate with you on the ambiguities of ethics and relativity of right and wrong... _I_ think you did something idiotically noble. You threw your life away to save hers…”

“I hardly threw my life away, Queenie. I had no intentions of becoming a ministry official…”

“Or an auror,” said Queenie with a grin.

“Or an auror,” he added, “I didn’t really have anything to lose. A nonexistent reputation?”

He looked back down at his drink, “It doesn’t bother me, you know.” He addressed him comment to Queenie, but spoke to Llewellyn in his heart. “It did at first, losing Leta. But I’m glad for them both - Theseus is right for her. I could never make Leta happy. She’s ambitious. She wants greatness…”

“You sell yourself short, Mr. Scamander,” said Watts, “Most people don’t manage a fraction of what you’ve done in an entire lifetime. 

Newt blushed. 

Watts looked as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it, and stared into his champagne glass instead. 

Queenie looked between them and rolled her eyes. Then she downed the last of her Moscato and nudged George. 

“I just remembered, I’ve got an umbrella!” she said, waving her wand. A bright pink umbrella appeared in midair. “Shall we leave these two to talk?”

“Ooh, yes, and have that dinner you promised me?” asked George with a flirtatious grin. 

Queenie laughed. 

“See you later, boys,” she called over her shoulder to Newt who had folded his arms around his torso, looking awkward, and Watts, who stood with his head cocked to the side. 

Neither of them moved as Queenie and George made their way out. The awkward silence stretched between them. 

“Every time I emerge from an interaction with Queenie Goldstein, I feel like I’ve been expertly manipulated, which is incredibly frustrating, because I don’t know whether to hate her or thank her,” said Watts philosophically. He glanced at Newt, who snorted. 

They fell silent again. Newt looked at him rather desperately as the silence stretched awkwardly.

“Llewellyn, I promise, if there ever was a chance of anything happening between Leta and me, that ship sailed ages ago…” he finally burst out. 

“I never...you don’t have to explain for me,” said Watts softly. 

He met Newt’s eyes shyly.

“And to answer your earlier comment, while Theseus may be impressive, he is certainly not my favourite Scamander.” 

“Oh?”

“I find you significantly more impressive.” 

“Oh.”

“Significantly more so.”

Watt’s heart skipped a beat as he looked into Newt’s eyes. 

“I don’t understand,” said Newt softly. 

“I’m...well, I’m a bit of a coward, I suppose...I’m not good with matters like this. As George will tell you, it’s perhaps the one place where I’m completely and utterly an irrational fool. It’s selfish, because your work is so important, and I don’t want to hold you back, but...when you told your brother that you’d be leaving, I couldn't...I...I...I…I don’t want to lose you.”

He took a step towards Newt, who was looking at him intensely.

Newt closed the distance between them and pulled him into an embrace. 

“You don't...I thought...I thought…” said Newt softly, willing himself not to cry.

Watts held him even tighter. 

“I’m not leaving just yet,” said Newt. Something clicked in his head...here was his chance to say it...what he couldn’t say to Leta all those years ago. He grew serious, and pulled away from Watts’s embrace. He met his eyes urgently. “And when I _do_ leave Toronto, I’m not leaving _you_. Not really. Not permanently. I don't want to...I don't want to lose you."

"Really?" said Watts hopefully.

"Really!" said Newt urgently.

Watts leaned back against Newt's bookshelf, knocking half a dozen jars to the floor with his elbow. He blushed furiously.   
  
"I'm so sorry!" 

Newt chuckled weakly. "It's not a problem."

He waved his wand, and the jars repaired themselves and floated back to their place on the shelf.

"The think is, I've...I've grown very fond of...adventuring with you..." Watts met Newt's eyes, "...very fond....of adventuring _and_ you." 

Newt felt his heart stop, and his breath catch in his chest. 

"You could...you could...come with me."

Watts's face fell. He swallowed hard, looked at the floor and rubbed at the back of his head with his hand. 

"I can't leave Toronto, Newt. My work is here. I..."

"...Or, We can figure it out!" continued Newt quickly, desperately. "I’ll get us two-way mirrors to talk, and with magic, we should be able to visit from time to time. And it’s only a year.” 

Watts nodded. “It’s only a year,” said Watts trying to reassure himself. He rested his head against Newt's shoulder, “I’ll wait for you...it is only a year." 

“Twelve months.”

“365 days.” 

“8,760 hours.”

“Only half as long as one of Murdoch’s explanations about batteries,” said Watts thoughtfully. 

They both dissolved into giggles. 

“We’ll figure it out,” said Newt seriously, “I want to figure it out.” 

Watts nodded, and smiled at him. They paused a moment, just relishing a moment spent together. Watts leaned in for a kiss. Newt eagerly complied. 

They were interrupted by a shrill alarm going off on Newt’s desk. 

Newt sighed, “I’ve got to change the kelpie’s bandages.” 

“We’re always interrupted at the most inopportune moments.” Watts kissed him one more time.

“Luckily this time we’re not running off to risk our lives and save Toronto…” 

Watts laughed, “Thank goodness for small mercies...though I suppose it depends largely on your success with the kelpie and what secret machinations of world domination he may be toying with. Go ahead, I’ll wait for you.”

Newt grinned and kissed him again before going to tend to the kelpie. Watts watched him as he left, then he occupied himself with observing his surroundings. 

Newt’s blue jacket had been left on the back of one of the chairs. Watts ran his hand across it, and fussed with the collar. The tweed material was a comforting roughness under his fingertips. He made his way around Newt’s space, brushing his fingers against this and that, admiring the love that Newt put into his work. His attention was caught by a crate filled with folders carefully labelled and arranged in alphabetical order. Absently he pulled out one to find a careful illustration drawn by Newt in ink and watercolour. 

_Good Lord, he’s so talented._

He flipped through to find Newt’s careful notes about the care the creature required, where and how he found it. He slipped it back into its place grinning to himself. 

He made his way into Newt’s sanctuary, past the bowtruckle enclave. He meandered through the cavernous space, and caught a sight of Newt, who was cutting down bandages to size with a pair of scissors. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he concentrated on his work. Watts watched him for a moment, each of his gestures filled with so much love. How could anyone _not_ love Newt?

* * * * * * *   
  


Newt finished washing his hands after changing the dressings on the Kelpie’s wounds, and made his way back to see where Watts had gone. 

He found him lying in the grass in the empty, sunny enclosure. His arms folded behind his dark curly dark hair. His eyes were closed. He was basking in the sunshine. New smiled as he approached. He had never seen Llewellyn look so incredibly serene. He wasn’t sure if Watts had noticed him, but Watts must have, for he began to speak without opening his eyes.

“It’s incredible, you know - your work. I’m lying in a grassy field in the sunshine, inside of a suitcase which is currently sitting on a table in a hotel room in Toronto. Outside it’s dark and raining; here, it’s a glorious day. Incredible! I was watching the clouds pass - and you...you created them all - every blade of grass, every grain of sand, you’re like a god here…”

Newt chuckled softly to himself. “I’m not....It doesn’t quite work that way - Gamp’s Laws of Elemental Transfiguration - one can’t make something out of nothing, things can be _summoned_ from other places, _transformed_ from something else, _multiplied_ or _changed in size_ , but anything conjured from nothing is merely an illusion, it dissipates as soon as the charm wears off. And there are limits to what I can do - food for example, food cannot be made out of nothing, creatures have to eat real grass. I summoned it from their natural habitats and then multiplied it…” he trailed off glancing at Watts expecting him to have grown bored of his explanations, but Watts was staring fixedly at him, a smile playing on his face. 

“Well then, pull up some grass and lie down,” he said, tapping the ground beside him. Newt smiled and sprawled out on the grass beside him. The grass was soft and the ground warm beneath him.

“You really are a genius, you know,” said Watts, his voice warm and full of admiration. Newt blushed and ducked his head, mumbling something that sounded like, “Pot - Kettle.” Watts gently bumped his cheek to Newt’s shoulder, and allowed his head to rest in the crook of Newt’s neck. 

**_En mi cielo al crepúsculo eres como una nube_ **

**_y tu color y forma son como yo los quiero._ **

Pointing up, Watts asked, “And the clouds? What does Gamp have to say about clouds?”

Newt smiled. “You know, at Hogwarts - my school - the ceiling of the dining hall is bewitched to look like the sky outside. It was one of my favourite things...it was like eating outdoors - we’d have our meals in the sunshine, by starlight, sometimes under violent stormy clouds. When it’d rain or snow the precipitation would tumble down from the cloudy ceiling, to vanish a few feet above our heads. It was truly magnificent. When I first began creating habitats for the creatures, I couldn’t imagine them looking up and seeing only the inside of my case. I wanted them to feel free. To be reminded of home.” 

Watts smiled. 

After a beat, Newt continued, “This particular patch of sky is in New Zealand.” 

“New Zealand? Why?”

Newt took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. Watts allowed the companionable silence to stretch, relishing in just being in Newt’s presence, feeling the brush of Newt’s shirt collar against his cheek as it moved with Newt’s breath. 

“My professor, Albus Dumbledore...he really saved me. I was able to get the advance on my book to quit my job, to start my research...all because of him. I’m afraid of what would have happened to me otherwise. I was slowly dying inside, in my job, in my own mind. Perhaps I would have faded away into nothingness.”

He fell silent again for a moment.

“When I left London, I took the first international portkey out that I could. I ended up in Wellington. I had no real plan, but for the first time in my life, I felt unfettered. Like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I could walk in the sunshine with money and a dream in my pocket. I stayed in Wellington a few days, as I decided what to do next...My plan was to travel up to Asia, first Southeast Asia, west to the Middle East, then northeast into the Himalayas and China, then to Japan and Korea, back through Oceania and from thence on to Egypt and through Africa. In Wellington, serendipitously, I happened upon an _Antipodean Opaleye.”_ Newt paused at Watts's puzzled expression. Newt found his furrowed brow absolutely adorable, like a confused Crup puppy. Newt pecked a quick kiss on his nose with a mischievous smirk. “It’s a type of dragon…one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen - its scales are pearly, and its eyes are-”

“Like opals?” asked Watts with a smirk.

“Yes, iridescent, resplendent with all the colours of the rainbow. No pupils, just a vast expanse of colour! She was breathtaking. They’re fascinating...unlike most other dragons they prefer to settle in glens and valleys rather than mountain tops. They’re very gentle, majestic creatures.”

Watts raised his eyes “ _Gentle_?”

“They only eat sheep.”

Watts hummed.

"Well, they’re incredibly gentle, as far as dragons go, though you can’t exactly have a dragon roaming around a major city.”

“I can imagine,” said Watts with a chuckle.

“I caught her before animal control could...well...you know. They’re incredibly rare - endangered. Hunted for their beautiful skin. The wizarding world doesn’t really have protective laws in place for animals.”

“I suppose they’re of the “kill it” school of philosophy.”

Newt nodded. His hair tickled Watt’s cheek.

“I made this habitat for her, settled her in, and then hiked up the Akatarawa Valley to release her into the valleys of the Tararua Range. In that short time, she became my friend. It was tough to say goodbye.”

“What did you name her?”

“What makes you think I-” Newt’s feeble protests died at Watts's smirk.

“Maggie.”

Watts hummed. “Maggie...For Pearl? Clever,” he said with a laugh.

Newt laughed too.

“It was poetic in a way - bookending the darkest chapter of my life with dragons, the death of some, the saving of another... I didn’t have the heart to get rid of this enclosure afterwards - it’s proven useful in a pinch to house any number of creatures until I can establish a more comfortable space for them. It also cheers me right up any time I feel a touch of _ennui_.”

They fell into silence again watching the fluffy clouds roll by.

“Isn’t it winter in New Zealand?” asked Watts suddenly. 

“Yes,” said Newt with a smile, “Climate control charms...incredibly useful.” 

Watts kissed him then, pinning him to the ground and devouring his lips with his own. Newt cradled him into an embrace, as he kissed him back. They broke apart only when the need for oxygen grew too strong. 

Watts slipped back down, rolling onto his stomach. He rested his right elbow on the ground, cradling his head in his hand, he allowed his fingers to trail through the grass, near Newt’s neck, pensive. 

“I never imagined being in the sunshine like this - together, I mean - to just be. Steal kisses. Like normal sweethearts.”

“We’re _sweethearts_ ,” said Newt, as if only just noticing it. He couldn’t contain his grin.

“Aren’t we?” asked Watts cautiously. 

Newt kissed him again in reply.

When they broke apart again, Newt was pensive...“You said “normal sweethearts.” Are we not normal?”

Watts chucked, “We’re rather far from normal, Newt, I should think. Even our dearest acquaintances think us a bit...well...odd.” He grew a little sad. “Though that’s not quite what I mean…”

Newt asked quietly, “You mean because we’re both male?”

Watts nodded. 

Newt looked up at the clouds pensively, “I never understood why people have such an issue with homosexuality or bisexuality - it’s actually quite common in the wild. Only humans seem to have such hang-ups. No other species seems to care. Graphorns and Plimpies don’t sit around all day thinking up legislation that mandates who they are permitted to love. It’s perhaps the one way in which the magical world is more socially progressive than the Muggle - most don’t have issue with same-sex partnerships...they’re usually more concerned with social class...and for some so-called blood purity...so I suppose perhaps we’re not that progressive after all.”

He turned to look at Watts. Watts was looking down at the grass, still pensive. 

“Besides,” continued Newt, “I’d like to think that we fall in love with a _person_ , not their genitals.”

Watts huffed a laugh. Newt smiled, then grew serious.

“Not that I’m terribly experienced in matters of the heart,” said Newt softly, “I’ve only ever really loved one person before, and she’s marrying my brother.” 

Watts looked at Newt carefully, “Do you regret that?”   
  
Newt responded, “I did once, but, honestly, no, not anymore. Thinking on it, they’re much better matched.”

He paused again, this time, not quite meeting Watts's eyes. 

“Besides, I’ve met someone new, someone brilliant, and kind, someone who thinks I’m a genius...and a god…” he shot Watts a crooked smile.

Watts chuckled.

“Someone who understands me as no one else has ever before...not even Leta, certainly not my own family. I’m rather sweet on him.”

Watts blushed again, and returned to staring at the grass. Newt felt his heart speed up and leap to his throat. _Did Llewellyn regret this? Was he repulsed by them? By their relationship?_ He couldn’t bear the thought of rejection, not from Llewellyn, not now. He worked up the courage to ask what needed to be asked.

“Does it bother you?” asked Newt softly, readying himself for his heart to inevitably shatter. 

“Your history with Leta? Why would that bother me? We didn’t even know each other...” 

“No, I mean...what we...because we’re both male...are you ashamed of us...of me...of being with me?”

Watts looked up sharply.

“Not of you, never of you!” He swallowed hard. “It’s difficult, because all my life I’ve lived in a society that believes love between two men...is sinful. It’s difficult for me because I know we can’t be free and open...we can’t lie like this on the grass in the park on a summer’s day together. We can’t get married, or have a life together, share a home, share a family. We can’t even tell our friends.”

“I don’t think our friends would mind...Queenie and George certainly don’t…” 

“Queenie and George are also not...they’re also rather far from normal,” said Watts with a sad smile, “If knowledge of our relationship were to get out, Newt, it would destroy us. The Criminal Code would make us subject to psychological evaluation, corporal punishment, and at least five years’ imprisonment for engaging in _acts of gross indecency_ with another man. My career would be ruined, and we’d be labeled as sexual deviants for life.”

Newt stayed perfectly still and totally quiet.

Watts finally continued, “It doesn’t change things for me, it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. In the words of a very wise man, ‘ _Some things in life are worth the risk_.’” he gently took Newt’s hand.

“Who said that?” asked Newt curiously, giving Watts’s hand a squeeze. 

“George Crabtree,” said Watts with a grin. Newt chuckled. 

Watts did as well, he met Newt’s eyes, and marveled at how they glistened in the sunlight, like the surface of the sea. 

“What affects me the most is the injustice of it, that people should be made to feel ashamed for love. That others could be so cruel.”

Newt shifted closer to Watts and gave his hand another squeeze.

“Humans are...difficult creatures. The most difficult I’ve encountered, and the most dangerous. They can be incredibly cruel sometimes.”

Watts snorted, “You speak as if you’re not one.”

Newt said very seriously, “Half the time I don’t feel like one, the other half of the time, I’m made to feel like I’m not one…” his eyes grew sad, “I’ve seen it time and time again, humans can be unspeakably cruel.”

Watts thought of his adoptive brothers and laughed bitterly, “Truer words have never been spoken.” 

Newt was quiet a moment, then said, “But that’s what makes things like good, wise, _interfering and manipulative_ friends...and happy moments, and…” he paused, glancing into Watt’s dark eyes, “love...all the more valuable.”

Watts swallowed, and looked up at the clouds, but gripped Newt’s hand tightly in his own. “You know, I’ve never felt this way about...well...anyone before in my life.” 

Newt looked up at him carefully, “Really?”

Watts sighed, “My life has not been the brightest and happiest of stories...It’s punctuated by loss and loneliness…first my parents’ death, then my sister’s disappearance...and I...I never fit in anywhere...I was always ridiculed for how I walk, how I talk, how I think and act...the things I say. It’s...it’s been hard...to connect to people. I’ve found...friends here in Stationhouse Four, comrades of sorts. Perhaps they don’t quite understand me, sometimes they get frustrated with me, but they treat me as a person...they tolerate me. George in particular is a gem… But in spite of all that, I feel like I’ve gone through life utterly invisible. It’s worked in my favour sometimes, to slip unnoticed, but it’s been incredibly lonely. I’ve never felt understood and accepted, never felt a kinship or true human connection...I’ve never felt _seen_ , if that makes any sense? Not until I’ve met you.” 

Newt normally had difficulty maintaining eye contact, a trait he shared with the Detective, but at that moment, nothing could possibly make him look away. He felt like he was looking directly into Llewellyn’s soul, and felt Llewellyn looking back at him. In that moment, they were vulnerable and powerful, knowing that at any time, one could destroy the other with a word, yet trusting the other not to. 

Was this what love was?

“I’ve felt attraction before, but I never understood it all, never could grasp humanity’s obsession with romance and intimacy, for me it was just another sensation, not even remotely as strong as hunger or thirst, or the excitement over a new book or a glass of wine. But with you, it’s so different. I’ve emerged from Plato’s cave to see the stars, the moon and the sun.” 

He grinned at Newt mischievously, “And the grass, and the sand, and the sky and the clouds...especially the sky and the clouds,” he glanced upwards, “...and the bowtruckles, and the demiguises, and the-”

Newt silenced him with a kiss. Watts kissed him back desperately, his grip on Newt’s arm and the back of his neck tighter than what was necessary, but Newt understood. It was the same thing he was feeling, the needed reassurance that Watts was _there_ , _wanted_ to be there, and would _continue_ to be there.

When they broke apart, Watts continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “...and the leucrottas, and the kelpies, and the-” 

Newt laughed. 

Watts paused again, smiling at Newt’s glee. He allowed himself to get lost a moment in Newt’s eyes, this evening, in the New Zealand sunshine, they were the colour of a tropical sea. 

“...the everything,” he finished thoughtfully. 

Still smiling, Llewelly looked at Newt intently, “It’s all so clear to me, you know. I think…I think I love you Newt.”

Newt looked at him carefully. He took in Llewellyn’s flushed face, his twinkling eyes, his vulnerable smile. Newt’s heart skipped a beat. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, barely trusting himself to say the words out loud, for fear that he would break the brilliant, impossible, beautiful dream. 

“Really?” said Watts shyly. 

“Really,” said Newt sincerely. 

Watts cradled Newt’s face in his hand, as if disbelieving him to be real. Newt pulled at Watts’s tie, drawing him close.  
  
“I love you Llewellyn Watts,” he said gently. 

Watts kissed him again, more gently this time. Newt sighed into the kiss, and he ran his fingers through Llewellyn’s dark curls. He rested his forehead against Llewellyn’s as he caught his breath, glancing into his dark eyes. He smiled at Newt before trailing searing kisses along Newt’s jaw, the roughness of his stubble tickled Newt. Newt leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek against Llewellyn’s, then kissed his nose with a grin. Llewellyn blinked and chuckled. He ran his fingers along the neckline of Newt’s waistcoat to the back of his neck. He adored the goldenrod colour. It was so _Newt_.

He returned his lips to Newt’s as his fingertips gently caressed Newt’s neck.

Newt sighed, and Watts grinned into Newt’s mouth, chucking slightly. Newt pulled away slowly. Llewellyn admired Newt’s flushed cheeks, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing he was the cause

He kissed him again and they lost themselves in each other’s touch.

  
  
  


The first rays of sunlight woke them. At some point in the night, they had made their way to lie intertwined on Newt’s cot. 

Consciousness returned slowly. Newt was aware of Llewellyn’s arm slung over his chest, the skin healed and unblemished. He felt the steady beats of their hearts, the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they breathed, and the warmth of their tangle of legs and arms. 

He snuggled closer to Llewellyn, unwilling to rise just yet. It all had felt like a dream, and if it had been, Newt wasn't quite ready for it to end. Watts opened one eyelid, his dark eye sought Newt’s and his face split into a brilliant grin. He closed his eyes again and nuzzled Newt’s cheek with his own. Newt felt his heart swell; he’d grown to love Llewellyn’s smile in their short acquaintance. It was as radiant as the sun, and warmed Newt to the core, like the first sip of warm butterbeer on a frosty winter’s day. 

“‘Morning,” said Llewellyn, his voice still heavy with sleep. His breath tickled Newt’s ear making him grin shyly.

“Good morning," said Newt softly.

“Better than good,” replied Llewellyn with a crooked grin, “Arguably the best morning I’ve had in my life.” Newt blushed, and chuckled, then stole a quick peck on Llewellyn’s cheek. 

They stayed there together for a few more moments, relishing the other’s presence. 

“To think, we had a luxurious bed with silk sheets and feather pillows just outside my case, and we spent the night on this rickety cot.” 

Watts laughed. 

“I wonder what time it is,” said Llewellyn. Newt reached his arm up and pulled an alarm clock from his desk. “It's just six,” he replied softly. 

Llewellyn’s face fell. “I suppose I should be getting ready...though I'm loathe to.” 

“What time do you start at work?” Asked Newt.

“Eight.”

“You could stay a bit longer.”

Llewellyn met Newt’s eyes, eyebrows raised. Newt blushed, the ghost of a mischievous grin on his lips.

Llewellyn chuckled sitting up slowly, the cot groaning in protest as he shifted his weight. “Then I'd certainly be late.” He reached for his trousers.

Newt sat up as well, pulling the sheet to his lap. He looked away, ashamed and suddenly shy again. Llewellyn understood. He understood the uncertainty and vulnerability, that after a lifetime of feeling very much alone and unloved in a cold and unfeeling world, just how crushing and ever-present the fear of rejection could be. 

He felt his heart break. He knew his words would be clumsy, reassurances would sound empty, yet he wanted in the depths of his heart for Newt to understand. Llewellyn reached out, cupping Newt’s cheek in his hand, gently caressing his lips with his thumb. Newt met his eyes cautiously. Llewellyn leaned forward and kissed him. He put it all into his kiss - he tried to convey his reassurances, his own self doubts and fears he carried but also his hope for the connection they shared, his admiration for the loveable man, and his desire to continue to explore this new _love_.

 _“I love you, Newt Scamander_ ,” he said as he pulled out of their kiss. Newt’s dazzling smile was like the sun bursting through storm clouds...it could have powered the electric lights in all of Toronto, and the sheer joy it caused in Llewellyn hit his chest like a rampaging leucrotta. He couldn't help but grin back. 

“I’ll see you later?” Llewellyn asked shyly, offering Newt the power to decide. He realized his heart would live or die by Newt’s response - it was exhilarating. 

“Later, then Llewellyn.” He grinned slyly then kissed him again. “I will hold you to your word.”

“I should hope so,” replied Llewellyn with a wink. Then he stood and finished dressing. 

“How about we meet for lunch? I know just the place! Do you like Chinese food? ” 

Newt smiled. 

He looked forward to a lifetime of waking up besides, sharing meals with, and loving Llewellyn Watts. It certainly wouldn't be easy, but they would figure it out.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the scene in the sunny enclosure was part of the very first thing I wrote in this story. It had started off as a one-shot, and has since gone through many iterations and edits, as I expanded the story to explain how they got there in the first place. That scene in Things Left Behind, where Watts speaks about how dark it is in Toronto, and the fact that he and Jack had to relegate their love to the shadows - it made me want to write a scene in which he could kiss in the sun, albeit Newt's artificial New Zealand sun. Why New Zealand? Because Antipodean Opaleyes are awesome. 
> 
> I'm absolutely rubbish at writing romance, particularly kissing and sex scenes. It always feels so fake and awkward. I like to think that because Llewellyn and Newt are both so incredibly awkward that my writing could slide by. 
> 
> I'm working on the final chapter - the epilogue of sorts. I hope to have it up soon. I'm also really considering the sequel - I've started brain-storming and fleshing out a storyline. It would diverge significantly from The Crimes of Grindelwald (obviously). 
> 
> Once again, thank you for following me into this curious case (Romantic scenes may be my weakness...but perhaps awkward puns are my true forte) 
> 
> Please review if you can! I love to hear your thoughts :)


	22. Chapter 22 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which goodbyes are shared, and Newt sets off for his next adventure.

**Epilogue**

> _“You must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural.”_ \- Plato

Newt found himself falling more in love with Llewellyn Watts every passing minute - it was the little things, as it always inevitably is...every time he saw Llewellyn smile as he savoured a delicious morsel of food, or the way he unconsciously scratched at his cheek or ran his hands through his hair as he got lost in whatever he was reading, sprawled irreverently on whichever vaguely horizontal surface on which he found himself. Newt _loved_ to watch him read - the way Llewellyn would subconsciously bite his lip thoughtfully and furrow his brow...the way Llewellyn would pause, lost in thought before grinning shyly at Newt and sharing whatever passage struck his fancy... punctuated regularly with kisses. He smiled to himself as he thought back to the previous evening, spent in Llewellyn’s room at his boarding house, curled up together in Llewellyn’s bed.

Newt looked up from editing his manuscript to watch Llewellyn, totally engrossed in a collection of poems by the Romantics. Without looking up from his book he smiled to himself, and recited for Newt: 

_“The fountains mingle with the river  
_ _And the rivers with the ocean,  
_ _The winds of heaven mix for ever  
_ _With a sweet emotion;  
_ _Nothing in the world is single,  
_ _All things by a law divine  
_ _In one another’s being mingle_ _—  
_ _Why not I with thine?_

 _See the mountains kiss high heaven,  
_ _And the waves clasp one another;  
_ _No sister-flower would be forgiven  
_ _If it disdain’d its brother;  
_ _And the sunlight clasps the earth,  
_ _And the moonbeams kiss the sea_ _—_ _  
__What is all this sweet work worth  
_ _If thou kiss not me?”_

Newt complied happily. Watts grinned into his kiss. When they finally separated breathless, Newt sighed. 

“I love that one. Was that Byron?” He set aside his manuscript.

“Shelley,” said Llewellyn cuddling himself more closely to Newt, “ _Love’s Philosophy_.” 

Newt gently ran his hand through Llewellyn’s hair. _“...and the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea - What is all this sweet work worth if thou kiss not me,_ ” repeated Newt, then glanced at Watts innocently and raised an eyebrow. 

Watts chuckled and kissed Newt soundly. All thoughts of Shelley and Byron were driven from their minds as they explored their own _philosophy of love_. 

_Llewellyn Watts_.

What was there not to love about him? A man who experienced so much loss, who consistently had his heart broken again and again and still managed to feel so deeply...To express hope and love and wonder at the world around him. Newt was once again awestruck at his own impossible good luck to have found Llewellyn. 

While Newt’s nights belonged to Llewellyn, his days were spent exploring Toronto, preparing for his trip, and visiting with his friends. Queenie and George in particular never failed to bring a smile to Newt’s face. They were blissfully in love...and so adorable together - he couldn’t think of two people more deserving of love and happiness - except perhaps Llewellyn. It didn’t take a genius to see how much they cared for each other.

  
  


On the Monday after their adventure, while Llewellyn was at work, Newt made his way back to Hanlan’s point to confront J.W. Gorman. He was accompanied by Queenie and Mr. Meyers. 

“You really don’t need to-”

“Once again, Mr. Scamander, this is a matter for the Office of International and Muggle Relations. I’m outraged to think that this J.W. Gorman got away with keeping a _Kelpie_ at a public beach for so long. It’s a wonder it didn’t get free sooner! We’re fortunate we had no deaths on our hands. Thank you for disposing of the creature...you **_did_ **dispose of it, did you not?” 

Newt’s ears turned pink and he made a noise he hoped sounded vaguely affirmative. 

Queenie winked at Newt. “I was there myself, Mr. Meyers. Newt was incredibly heroic. He rescued those two young lads single-handedly!” 

Newt shot her an exasperated look. 

Meyers sighed, “It appears we owe you yet _another_ unofficial ‘thank you.’” 

J.W. Gorman turned out to be a dodgy wizard who could give Manky Fletcher a run for his money. Newt gave him a stern talking to about using magical creatures, _particularly_ XXXX rated magical creatures for entertainment purposes, **_particularly_ **around muggles. 

“It’s not an issue anyhow, we’re retiring the show…” responded Mr. Gorman in a shifty tone. 

“I’m sure that has nothing to do with your creature going missing Sunday,” said Queenie. 

“How did you know?” he asked nervously. 

“Mr. Scamander happened to be at the beach and rescued two boys from the kelpie when it tried to _eat_ them,” said Queenie. 

Newt’s ears went red again, but only Queenie noticed. She shot him another wink. 

“Of course, we could charge you with reckless endangerment of muggles, attempted manslaughter of muggle children…” began Meyers. Mr. Gorman paled and pleaded. 

They went back and forth for a bit.

In the end, Mr. Gorman was charged a hefty fine, and let off with a stern warning, which was, indubitably, Mr. Meyer's plan all along.

  
  


Newt made time to visit the magical district again with Llewellyn one afternoon. They spent a couple of hours in _Biblio & Taph’s, _ the magical bookshop. Newt had to gently dissuade Llewellyn from trying to buy half the shop. Newt very gently reminded Llewellyn that he had access to the entirety of Newt’s personal library, and kissed away Llewellyn’s disappointment in a shadowy deserted corner of the bookshop.

Newt stopped at the magical post office to finally _finally_ write his mum and Professor Dumbledore. He’d written both letters the night before and purchased some sweets to send along. A box of Patterson’s finest chocolates for his mum as an apology, and a package of “Pal-o-Mine’s” for Dumbledore. He chuckled to himself, remembering his old professor’s fondness for muggle confectionery. He had hoped to bribe Dumbledore for more information, but the chocolates also served as an unspoken “thank you” for sending him to Toronto. If not for Dumbledore, he likely would never have met Llewellyn. He subconsciously shuddered at the thought. He sent off the parcels with a sense of relief, then returned to Llewellyn who was watching scores of owls soaring in and out of the pane-less windows in awe. 

“How can owls deliver post across the ocean?” 

Newt smirked, “Magic.” 

Watts chuckled, “You can’t simply use “magic” as an explanation for everything, Newt.” 

“Post owls have magical abilities. They can track people down knowing only the person’s name. They fly for uncommonly long distances without problems. In my travels, I’ve seen them kip on steamers as needed.” 

Watts shook his head, still grinning to himself. 

“Come on,” said Newt with smile, “There’s still one more stop I’d like to make before we head home.”

 _Home_. Newt couldn't help but grin. Llewellyn's boardinghouse had come to feel more like _home_ to Newt than anywhere else ever had, save his case, and perhaps Hogwarts (for a few years at least).

  
  


The night before Newt departed, Queenie hosted a “going away” dinner at her flat. Newt, Llewellyn and George were there, along with Murdoch and Dr. Ogden. “Julia, please” she insisted to Queenie with a grin. Even the Inspector stopped in for a quick goodbye before heading home to dinner and his wife. 

Newt glanced at Queenie and Julia happily chatting away. He smiled - Julia Ogden and Queenie Goldstein were both incredibly powerful, unstoppable forces. A friendship between the two women would only spell trouble for anyone who tried to get in their way. _Good,_ thought Newt, _We need more Queenie Goldsteins and Julia Ogdens in this world._

Throughout the dinner, they kept the conversation light, trying to avoid the _erumpent in the room_ \- Newt’s imminent departure and the general colouring of sadness it cast over the gathering of the group of friends. 

In the end it was Queenie’s cake - a lovely strawberry cake, beautifully iced with glistening pink frosting and elegant cursive lettering the colour of Newt’s waistcoat reading “Bon voyage, Bunny,” that caused Newt to break. 

He laughed a desperate laugh that if one looked too closely at it, one would realise it was actually more like sobbing. 

“Oh, Bunny!” said Queenie softly, and she engulfed him in a hug, “I’m so going to miss you.”

“You’ve really changed our lives, Newt,” said George, gently, “What will we do without you?”

“It’s not for long,” said Watts softly, “It’s only a year.” 

Newt chuckled, weakly, “Twelve months.”

“365 days,” said Watts, meeting Newt’s eyes.

“8,760 hours,” replied Newt with a watery grin. 

“525,600 minutes,” said Watts softly. 

“I didn’t calculate any further than that…” said Newt.

Murdoch looked between them utterly confused, but a look of understanding crossed Julia’s face. She rested one hand on Llewellyn’s forearm, and the other on Newt’s.

“We’re always here for you, you know? You always have a home here...and a family.”

Newt nodded, not quite making eye contact. 

Watts cleared his throat utterly _verklempt_. 

Queenie and George were grinning at Julia. Murdoch still looked utterly confused. 

“That reminds me,” said Newt quickly. He reached into his ever-present case and pulled out a parcel. He opened the box to reveal a stack of hand-mirrors. 

“I don’t know if you’d like...and I’m sorry if I presumed...I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, that’s fine as well…”

“Two-way mirrors?” asked George excitedly.  
  
“We can use them to keep in touch - again, only if you want to of course-”

“You silly gooseberry,” said Queenie with a laugh, taking a mirror.

“I enchanted them myself with the protean charm. You just need to say the person’s name and the corresponding mirror will chime -” 

She picked hers up and said “Newt Scamander” into the mirror. A delicate ringing sound emanated from the mirror before Newt. He picked it up and brought it to his face. Queenie's face appeared in his mirror and his face in hers.

“And to end the call, simply tap the mirror surface twice,” he glanced up at them bashfully, “That is assuming of course...if you want to keep in touch - Well, there’s one for each of you, and for Tina as well -”

“That’s so thoughtful of you, Newt,” said Julia, “I think I speak for everyone - thank you. We will absolutely keep in touch. We still have much to discuss about magical versus mundane nervous systems.”  
  
Newt smiled.

“Tina wanted to be here, she wanted to say a proper goodbye...she’s incredibly grateful to you...you really saved her life. She’s following a lead on the disappearance of Mr. Graves, at the moment. She thinks she's very close.” said Queenie. 

“I understand,” said Newt quickly. 

“But she’ll meet you at the train station in the morning.” 

“She doesn’t have to.” 

“She wants to.” 

“I’m afraid Newt that you might have to start accepting the fact that you’re not so unlikeable as you previously thought. People enjoy spending time with you,” said George with a grin.

“I’ve said, people in Toronto are uncommonly good.” 

“That’s why they call us ‘Toronto the Good’” said Queenie with a laugh. 

“And you’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Scamander,” said Llewellyn. His tone was teasing, but his eyes were sincere. 

“You’re one of us now, Bunny,” said Queenie. 

Newt glanced down at his shoes. He’d never felt so loved and accepted in his entire life. He barely knew what to do with the emotion. 

As the evening drew to a close, they made their goodbyes. Murdoch shook Newt’s hand firmly. 

“Mr. Scamander, you’ve certainly turned my world upside-down. But I’m grateful to have met you. Do keep in touch, and if you find yourself in Toronto again, do please stop by to visit.” 

“Thank you, Detective Murdoch. It means a lot.” 

Julia pulled Newt into a tight embrace. 

“Please remember what I said, Newt. I’m so glad Llewellyn has found you.” 

“Thank you, Julia, it’s been an absolute honor speaking with you,” he said. 

She smiled sadly, “Don’t be a stranger, Newt.” She tapped her pocket where her communication mirror was carefully hidden.

Newt next turned to George and Queenie. 

Queenie engulfed Newt in an embrace.

“You be careful now, Bunny. I know you’re good with those dangerous creatures, but you best come back to us in one piece. We’ve had enough near-death experiences to last a lifetime.” 

“I will endeavor not to disappoint you, Queenie.”

She smiled sadly, then hugged him again.  
  
Llewellyn watched Newt sadly. Queenie slipped her arm around Watts’s shoulders, and gave his arm a squeeze. He sighed sadly. 

Newt extended his hand to George next, but George pulled him into a hug as well. When he released Newt, he pointed a stern finger at him, “Mind what Queenie said. Don’t make me have to track you down and court another leucrotta to save your neck.” 

Newt laughed. “You’re a good man, George Crabtree, and in this short time, you’ve become a very dear friend. I’m so glad to have met you.” 

With a final sad smile, Newt linked arms with Llewellyn, and they vanished with a pop.

“Do you think they’ll be alright, Queenie?” 

“I know so Georgie... I have a plan.”

George chuckled, “You always have a plan.” 

“A goal without a plan is just a wish,” said Queenie with a grin, “That’s Clements Academy’s motto.” 

“I like that,” said George, “I just might use that in my next novel. I’ll dedicate it to you.” 

Queenie blushed prettily. George kissed her soundly. 

  
  
  


Newt and Llewellyn apparated carefully from Queenie’s flat to the alley just around the corner from Watts’s boardinghouse. In the shadows of the alley, Llewellyn slipped his arm from Newt’s grasp, gently kissing him before whispering, “Give me five minutes’ head start.” 

Then he made his way back to the boardinghouse, bidding goodnight to his landlady who poked her head out of her suite of rooms as he passed. 

“I see you’ve returned from your trip, Detective Watts.”

“Mmmm, yes, for the time being. Good night, Mrs. Everett.”

He slipped into his room, locking the door and waited to make sure he heard Mrs. Everett return to her rooms. The distant sound of the nightly radio drama could be heard emanating from her room. He next carefully shut the blinds and drew the curtains...even though his room was located at the very back of the boardinghouse, he could not risk it. At precisely the five-minute mark, Newt appeared in the middle of the room with a pop.

It was relatively easy to sneak into and out of a room when one was magical, but still - Watts could not risk his landlady discovering he had an _overnight guest_ , particularly one of the male sex, for while a female guest would likely land him in trouble with the landlady, a _male guest_ would be downright scandalous. 

Safely hidden away in Watts’s room however, Newt and Llewellyn dispelled such negative thoughts and fears. They thought not of the next day, or the upcoming year. Despite it being only 31,526,000 seconds, once one has found love, it’s hard to spend even a few moments apart. They savoured their remaining time together, and if they held each other a little tighter than necessary as they finally drifted to fitful sleep in a tangle of legs and arms, neither of them felt the need to comment. 

The September morning of Newt’s departure dawned bright, sunny, and warm, though in the grey early-morning light, one could sense the chill of the oncoming autumn. It was a struggle to get dressed that morning, each movement was interrupted with desperate kisses, as Llewellyn and Newt were overwhelmed with the sorrow of Newt's coming departure. Once they were finally dressed, Newt lovingly straightened Watts’s tie. 

Watts grabbed Newt roughly and kissed him again. When they broke apart, he furiously wiped at his eyes. He glanced at Newt and saw his sea eyes were watery and glum in the early morning sunlight. 

“I’ll meet you out in the alley?” he said sadly.

Watts nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

They walked together to the train station, a few feet apart to avoid suspicion, as much as Llewellyn longed to walk holding hands, or arm in arm with Newt like _regular sweethearts_. 

“Do you promise to call?” asked Llewellyn nervously as Union Station came into view. 

“Every day,” said Newt quickly, “I’ll imagine you’ll grow tired of talking to me.”  
  
“Never,” said Watts firmly. 

“I’ll call you tonight. 7:00?” 

“Eleven hours from now,” said Llewellyn seriously. 

“Just think, only 8,749 more to go.” 

The joke fell flat. 

“It’ll be a good number of days on the train, I’m afraid," continued Newt, "Toronto to Saskatoon - I’m stopping for a day in Moose Jaw to write an article for _The Wandering Wizard_ on the wizarding community there, and their new Quidditch Stadium for the Moose Jaw Meteorites, then heading north to Big River by train, before hiking out into the wilderness.” 

“I’ll miss you terribly.” 

“And I you.” 

They’d made it to the platform. Passengers were already boarding the train - porters were loading heavy trunks into the compartments - a vast assortment of fresh ingredients was being delivered to the kitchen in the dining cart. Newt was oblivious to all the action. He was staring fixedly at Llewellyn, lost in Llewellyn’s salamander eyes. 

“Come back home to me in one piece, please,” whispered Llewellyn, his voice breaking slightly. 

“Always," whispered Newt softly, "Same goes for you, Llewellyn Watts, please be careful. I won’t be here to magic away your injuries.” 

Llewellyn grinned sadly. 

“NEWT!” They both turned abruptly and caught sight of Queenie rushing towards them, a big grin on her face. Tina was following her at a quick page, also smiling. 

“We caught you just in time!” said Queenie, and she engulfed him in another hug.

“You didn’t have to come, Queenie! You hosted that lovely dinner last night…” 

“Oh, shush you.” 

“Newt, I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” said Tina. 

“I’m glad to see you, Tina! How did it go? You were following a lead on Mr. Graves last night...” 

“We found him! His injuries were extensive, and he has yet to regain consciousness, but the healers are very hopeful. We were so incredibly fortunate, any later and he might not have made it.” 

“I’m glad you found him. I hope he’s properly grateful to you for all you’ve done for him.” 

Tina smiled shyly, “Speaking of gratitude, Newt...thank you. For everything. You’ve saved my life, and countless others'. Canada owes you a great debt, and I do too.” 

“You owe me nothing, Tina I -” 

“Oh, HUSH I said!” said Queenie. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two identical small black boxes. She handed one to Llewellyn and the other to Newt. 

“What’s this?” asked Llewellyn, utterly confused. 

Tina and Queenie grinned and exchanged glances. 

“We had to pull some strings-”

“Call in some departmental favours-”

“But considering all you’ve done-”

“It was the least we could do,” said Tina with a grin. 

“There’s a note in the box,” said Queenie smiling mischievously, as if that explained everything.

The train whistled. The conductor shouted “ALL ABOARD!” 

Queenie and Tina embraced a still confused Newt, and kissed him on his cheeks. Llewellyn and Newt shared a lingering handshake, giving each other’s hands a final squeeze before Newt boarded the train. He leaned out the window, waving at the three of them on the platform like mad. They waved back at him just as feverishly. 

His stomach churned unhappily as he watched them as the train picked up speed, until the train turned a corner and they disappeared from sight. 

Newt flopped sadly into his seat. He had half a mind to apparate back to them, consequences be damned. He glanced around his deserted compartment, then pressed his face against the window as he morosely watched as Toronto gave way to countryside. 

Newt wanted to cry. He needed a distraction.

He sighed, and pulled the Goldstein sisters’ black box out of his breast pocket. He examined it carefully. He opened it. A piece of parchment fluttered out of the box and fell to the compartment floor. There, nestled in purple velvet sat a simple golden band. It appeared vaguely unremarkable - like a common wedding band. He examined it carefully, noting miniscule engraved markings that looked vaguely like... _runes_? Utterly perplexed he retrieved the note from the floor, glancing it over, and his eyebrows very nearly hit his hairline. 

_You hold in your hands one half of a portkey pair, officially unofficially approved by the Diplomatic Relations branch of the Office of International and Muggle Relations for Greater Canada. They are activated by an agreed-upon trigger phrase and transport the activator to the location of the portkey pair, and/or back to the original location from whence he or she departed. We hope that this means it won’t be 8,760 hours until we next see you._

_With love,_  
 _  
_Queenie & Tina Goldstein

Newt couldn’t help the manic laugh that escaped him, nor the tears of joy in his eyes as he leaned back into his seat, turning the ring over in his hands. 

He had several calls to make that night. Calls of profound gratitude to Queenie and Tina, and then to his Llewellyn. They would arrange a visit once he’d reached the wilds of Saskatchewan. There among the trees and prairies, in the wilderness, free from society’s judgemental eye, they’d be able to lounge in the sunshine. To kiss under the clouds. To just be themselves, together. Queenie and Tina had given them a gift more valuable than gold. 

Perhaps this year wouldn’t feel quite so long after all. 

He slipped the ring onto his finger and kissed it, his heart ridiculously full of love and happiness.

He hugged his case to his chest and rested his chin on it. He whispered words of love to Llewellyn, though he knew he couldn’t hear him...he hoped the sentiment would get through. With renewed excitement, he watched as the train sped along the shore of Lake Ontario toward his next adventure.

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! I can't believe it! I feel such a profound sense of relief and also loss. 
> 
> "A goal without a plan is just a wish," is a quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Apart from being the writer of "The Little Prince," he fought as a pilot in World War II. After France's armistice with Germany, he fled into exile in North America. He spent a time in Canada before departing with an American military convoy for Algiers to fly with the Free French Air Force and fight with the Allies against Germany. I'd like to think he visited my fictional Clements Academy in Newfoundland where he heard the fictional school motto and was inspired to share it in his writing in the early 1940s. 
> 
> My mind is happily coming up with ideas for a potential sequel...would you be interested in reading more? I don't know if it will be of such epic length, and it might be a while before I begin posting it, but I suspect it will begin with an impromptu visit from Dumbledore.
> 
> Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. Thank you for your kind words and for sharing my love for these characters. 
> 
> As I've previously said, this project has carried me through some very dark days in the past year...days of fear, anxiety, illness, and sadness. I'm so happy to have had this to work on, and so grateful to have been able to share it with you.
> 
> If you'd like to keep in touch, you can find me on tumblr as talias-tardis. And do keep an eye out for my next project if you'd like more from this crossover world!
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Talia


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